Lilacs in the Louis-Philippe Room
by SymphonyinA
Summary: Raoul leaves on his North Pole expedition much earlier, leaving Christine without a confidant. How will the story change? Told through Christine's eyes and centered around her. Based on Leroux, varies dark or light depending on the chapter
1. Chapter 1: Salvation

*** — means I've revised/rewritten/polished a chapter**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I thought I could save him.

I thought that if gave him small affections, kind words, anything that wouldn't make me shy away in disgust, that he would change. That he would be all better and the world would be just as perfect as it had seemed when I was a little girl, with just Papa, me, and his violin.

But that's not how it happened. Oh, not at all! Nothing could have been further from the truth. Instead, over my fifteen days of captivity, my genuine kindness and gentleness for him turned into one enormous lie for my freedom. I pretended that I loved him! As a friend, as a student, that I loved him and enjoyed his company, even when we weren't playing music.

He had only become more deranged from this, more desperate, due to my 'love.' And my love most of the time was that of a cold mother! He would cling to my skirts, at my feet, while I read my books, trying desperately to escape through their black dotted paper. And he would glance up at me, begging with his horrible eyes, like two great abysses, for a simple touch, nothing more than a gentle, momentary clasping of his hand... And when I could bring myself to do that and not cringe from the sensation of touching death, just the touch of my hand would bring him to tears!

It frightened me how suddenly he could dissolve into a wreck, pulling on my skirts so hard I feared he would tear them. He declared his love passionately, but was never untoward, thankfully. I was the sun to him, in a way, as his entire world now revolved around me. Did I seem happy? Was I tired? Was I hungry? I was an angel to him, and at other times simply an amusing child that he spoiled with sweets and pretty things.

But I despised it. I despised and feared all of it, but most of all I feared his swift and sudden changes. For a reason that was no reason at all, after I asked him something simple like the time or even how he was doing, he would sometimes fly off on a tangent, into tears or laughter or vehement anger. This last one was never truly directed at me, but he shouted until I fled with tears in my eyes and waited for him to come apologize, weeping.

He was always weeping, always pleading, always begging on his knees, just for my love! And sometimes just my tolerance... tolerance that no one had ever given him.

Poor Erik...

But at last I was being freed from this world of pain and horror. He was letting me go that very morning!

I put on one of the dresses he had bought for me, his favorite, which was lilac and embroidered with the outline of the very same flowers as the color. This was to please him in case he had a change of heart, which was more than likely. I had also bathed and pinned up my hair with the silver combs and pins he had purchased. Everything I did that morning was to prepare myself, and I knew I was willing to do a good many things to be free of that tomb he called a house. I felt like I would die if I spent but another minute there!

As I exited my room, my heart began to race, as I was fearful he would not release me after all. How many times before had he changed his mind on a whim? When else had he let me out, save for the boat ride and the brougham through the Bois?

"Christine," he said happily as I came into the drawing room. "You look so lovely, so beautiful, my dear."

"Thank you," I replied, giving a pathetic attempt at a smile.

"I made a nice breakfast for us for before you leave, as a little farewell, although you will visit often, but still... Come sit, come sit! I've already set it all out..."

I went into the dining room with him, wishing he would stop acting like he had prepared meals "for us" when he never ate with me. He simply watched, which had caused me to lose some weight during my captivity. It was difficult to enjoy food when a corpse was staring me down from across the table.

I tried not to eat too quickly, but there was no trouble with that. My stomach was too nervous to take in anything but a few morsels. To excuse this, I told Erik I was just excited and couldn't eat much, so took away my plate, frowning.

Oh, why had I said that? That I was excited to get be free of this place? What if now he changed his mind?!

"Will you miss me?" He asked as he came back through the hidden door that led to the kitchen.

"Miss you?" I replied, pretending like the idea of not missing him was ludicrous, "Of course I will! That is why I will come see you every week."

He fidgeted with his bony fingers for a moment, nervous about something. He then paced a moment around the table before stumbling out, "Do you love me, Christine?"

"Erik, I..." How could I tell such a disgusting lie? It was too cruel, I couldn't, I wouldn't! "I am very fond of you. So very fond of you. I love you, but not the same as you love me. But yes, of course I love you. But it's not the same, you understand?"

He was crying. Oh, not again!

"Erik, don't-"

But it was too late. He fell to my feet, kissing the hem of my dress and sobbing.

"Oh Christine, no one has ever l-loved Erik!" He said pitifully, his voice filled with tears. "Not even as a friend! His own m-mother- but never has someone looked upon him w-without fear! How kind and wonderful you a-are, like an angel, yes, a-an angel, and you sing for your poor Erik, and you s-smile at him, he's n-never had someone smile at him kindly... l-like you do..."

I had learned how to keep my eyes dry during these sudden, pitiable bursts of emotion, but still, they stung horribly.

"Erik, dear-"

He sobbed now, simply sobbed, then suddenly he ceased, looking up at me with tears in his eyes. Just as his mouth opened to say something, he bowed his head again, as if ashamed.

"Will you promise Erik," he said softly, tentatively, running his fingertips along the hem of my dress. "Will you promise him that you will... one day... m-marry him?"

My heart stopped for a moment, then beat frantically. I felt myself spinning, all the house turning around me, and just as I shut my eyes to make it all stop, it ceased.

"I will not," I told him, nearly in tears. "Erik, you know I do not wish to marry. I have no desire for marriage; I have told you this time and time again. I will be your dearest friend, if you will, but I'm not ready to marry. You love me, you tell me this, so you would not want to make me unhappy, now, would you?"

"Never, my dear, never, but... oh, my dear Christine, Erik loves you too much to let you go back without being sure of your return! So, please do not be upset with your poor Erik, for he loves you more than anything, but he requests that you wear this ring... h-his ring."

He took out a little gold band from the pocket of his jacket. I stiffened in seeing it, as if he was presenting me with a ball and chain, which, in a way, he was.

"It's pretty enough for your hand, isn't it?" He asked.

For my freedom, even just my illusion of freedom, I nodded and extended my trembling left hand to him. He slid the cold ring, which was slightly too large, onto my finger, and the fragile weight of it was unbearable.

I expected him to fall to his knees, overwhelmed by my willingness to fall into his hideous lie. He was deceiving me into becoming, for all intensive purposes, engaged to him. The thought sickened me. But still, I expected him to be overwhelmed with euphoria, and instead he grabbed my hand roughly and held it in front of my face by the wrist. I stared into the black pits where he eyes lay, terrified by the strength of his grip and the sudden change in his demeanor.

"You will wear this always," he commanded. "Or else Erik shall have his revenge!"

I nodded, and he released my wrist, which I rubbed to rid the feeling of his cold and bony grasp. He seemed to not realize he had hurt me, and I would have confronted him about it, were I not so close to being freed, so very, very close!

"Come with me," he said decidedly. "And I shall return you to where you belong."


	2. Chapter 2: Home and Back Again

*** revised**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The mirror shut, and I found myself alone in my dressing room. It felt if I had woken up from a long and tormenting nightmare and was now taking in reality: my divider, my table and chair, a vase of wilting roses, the dress I had worn on the day I was taken... It was so strange. Everything was just as I had left it.

I was free. For a moment, I didn't quite understand, but then a smile illuminated my features and I ran outside, still pulling on my cloak and scarf, filled with the sudden urge to twirl around on my toes.

Oh, what a delightful thing it was to be free! Even though it was an illusion, as I could still feel what was now a tangible chain about me, it still felt wonderful. I was free to choose where to go, what to do, _anything._

But none of that interested me at that very moment so much as returning home to Mamma Valerius. I took a carriage to the apartment, and the ride was long, but I savored the city air like perfume. It was so much richer, so much livelier than the musty scent of the tomb I had escaped from. I felt like each breath was reviving me.

When the carriage stopped, I almost forgot to pay the driver, so anxious was I to return home. Upon entering the apartment, I couldn't contain myself, and I fell onto maman's bed, burying my face in her bedsheets. They were lightly perfumed with the rosewater she used, and the comfort that this gave me was unexplainable.

"You've returned!" She said happily. "My dear girl, your angel has sent you back to me!... But why do you cry?"

I looked up at her, smiling through my tears, "I just missed you so much Maman."

She looked pained, "Dear, are you unwell? You look so pale. And... What's this?"

She reached for my hand, and I snatched it away as if her touch had burned me. She had noticed the ring!

"Are you engaged now?" She asked, confused.

"Please, maman, just let me be h-happy now." I pleaded, twisting the ring about my finger. "I'm very tired, and I don't feel ready to answer so many questions at the moment."

"I'm practically your mother, dear. Why won't you confide in me?... Unless this is your angel's doing?"

"It is... I cannot explain, maman, forget the ring, please... My angel has sworn me to secrecy. And he wants me to come visit regularly now, every week."

"Every week?"

"I'm sorry, maman," I wish I could stay, too, "but he wants me to sing the lead roles now, and my voice still needs work... so much work..."

"Of course, how silly of me, doubting an angel... How many days do I have you for now?"

"Five. I'll go back Friday night."

Her face fell, "And remain for Saturday?"

"No, I'll return that morning. It's just for the night."

She reached up to press her hand against my cheek, "You're so cold... Are you afraid, my dear, of the angel?"

"Afraid of displeasing him is all..." I replied hastily. "Could we knit? I've missed talking to you."

"Of course, dear, I have too."

And we spent the day like that, enjoying each other's company. In the morning, I returned to rehearsals, to much chatter that I ignored, and this went on for five days that flew by like five hours. Too soon I informed maman that I would be spending a day with my angel again.

She told me to take care, wished me luck, and after kissing her, I left in a carriage to the opera. I walked to my dressing room, fidgeting with my ring, then stood in front of the mirror, the gateway to the tomb: the house on the lake. I didn't know how I would be able to go back down there without him dragging me.

I stood facing my own reflection for a few minutes as I waited, and was delighted to find a some new freckles on my cheeks. The rosy hue had mostly returned as well.

As I stood, smiling at my recovered reflection, I did not realize I was slowly being drawn to the surface. Erik's voice beckoned me, dripping with sweet melodies, calling me through the mirror. My heart swelled inside me with each note as we descended, and at the time I did not truly realize what was occurring. My senses were dulled by the music, which he dragged me down with, making me intoxicated by the notes, rhythms, and swells that seemed to be inside my very soul.

It ceased suddenly, and I stumbled around, dazed for a moment. Erik even caught me in my confusion, and I managed to not cry out in surprise.

Instead I cried out in indignation.

"Erik, do you not trust me to come to visit of my own will?" I demanded. "So you entrance me with a song instead?"

"You love my music." He said, hurt. "Don't you love my music? My voice?"

"Yes, but-"

"I only want to please you." He all but whimpered. "I thought you would like a song."

There was no use arguing, as it would only upset him, so I sighed, "The song was lovely, Erik."

He seemed mostly appeased at this, but still skeptical. After we descended into the darkness under the opera house, he helped me into the boat. I stood by my earlier comparison, for Erik was Charon and the water an inky Styx beneath us. The only disturbance upon the lake was the oars and the sides of the boat, and we were in absolute, deafening silence, which I was anxious to break.

"Erik?" I asked cautiously.

"Yes, my dear?" He replied.

"Instead of you coming to get me, could I come by myself? Is there a way for me to reach your house without making you come all the way to get me? I don't want to trouble you, you see."

He thought for a moment, his rows slowing, then they returned to their normal speed as he replied, "There is a way. I have considered it..."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. I want to visit in a normal way, come calling like a friend."

He nodded, "Yes, it would be more normal. But there is no way across the lake save the boat..." Again he thought for a moment. "I could... give you the key to the Rue Scribe gate... In another week, though, perhaps... Would you like that, my dear?"

"Yes, very much, but how would I get across the lake if there is no way but the boat?"

"You would call for me and I would retrieve you from the shore. And it's no trouble, not at all, for I do not live when you are away."

"I thought you said you composed?"

"Yes," he told me, his voice beginning to drip with drama. "And Erik neither eats nor sleeps when he composes. He devotes himself to his craft, pours every emotion, every passion into his work, to make it sublime!"

"Okay," I said, concerned. "But you're exaggerating, yes? Do you neglect yourself so when I'm away?"

"It is not neglect, but complete focus and devotion, that my music deserves."

"Erik, I worry about you."

His _eyes_ , they looked upon me with the most horrible softness after this. I may as well have declared my love for him, just my concern was enough to send him into joyful hysterics.

"You are so kind to your poor Erik," he told me with a happy sigh, then added quietly. "If only you could remain..."

"But I can't all the time, since you can't compose your Don Juan when I'm with you." I said hastily. "You promised you would not."

"Never, never!" He declared passionately. "You will have the most beautiful music, my dear Christine, not that piece, not like before. Of course I shall never play it for you, not again. When we arrive, we'll play many pieces of Mozart's! I have so many set out for us, all waiting on the piano. And, and, Christine, to please you also, I bought flowers! I know how much you miss the world above while you are with me, so you can have some of the world with you now."

"Thank you."

He jerked his head up a moment, bringing a finger to his masked lips, "Hush, Christine, we approach the siren."

I blanched. He would never explain this strange siren to me, but he told me that it, that _she,_ was deadly, and should I fall into the lake she would devour me. I had at first told him that was a terrifying story for children, and that he was only trying to frighten me, but after he begged profusely for me to believe him, I wondered whether it was just a lie to keep me with him, or whether a monster truly lurked beneath the opaque waters.

Erik frequently frightened me with the siren and the torture chamber to keep me away from secrets. I still believed that the torture chamber was simply a secret exit, but I would never dare to find out. Besides, he had shown me where the key was, in a leather bag, "the little bag of life and death," he called it. It remained on a hook in his bedroom, by the organ, but I couldn't stand being in that room, so he knew I would never attempt to take it.

Even if those were lies to contain me, the front door was always locked anyway. I could never escape, and if I did... but I didn't want to think of that.

"You haven't had dinner yet, yes?" Erik asked as we entered the house on the lake.

"No. Not yet."

"Good, I made us something."

He turned to go into the dining room, and I called for him, "Wait, Erik, you forgot to take off my cloak like you always do."

He came over to me with apologies, then unclasped it and hung it up alongside his jacket. Of course, I could have done it myself, but he wanted to be a gentleman, and I encouraged this, obviously. And what if he threw a dramatic fit over it later?

"What are we having?" I asked politely.

"For the occasion, what you had when you first arrived."

I felt my cheeks grow cold, "Erik, um... Okay, but I thought you would remember... That day was a debacle of sorts, was it not?"

"Oh, but when it ended I had never been happier! It was the first day anyone had said a kind word to Erik, and tried to look upon him without fear. And now you can. You are such a brave girl, Christine, so very brave."

"Thank you... but Erik, my apologies, you're still wearing your mask. I forgot to ask you to remove it."

"Would you-?" But he stopped, hesitant.

"Would I what, Erik?"

He hesitated, avoiding my gaze.

"Would I what?" I asked again.

"Remove it... for me?" He said.

I blinked, confused at why he would desire such a thing, "If you want."

Then I realized exactly why he wanted me to; I had to tuck my fingertips under the sides to take the mask off. He wanted me to touch his face, oh, how desperate he was if he wished to be reminded of when I tore it off his face, just to have the sensation of my soft hands!

But I obliged. I tried my best to not recoil at the feeling of his flesh, which felt like a corpse's as much as it looked like one. I even attempted to let my fingertips remain in contact for longer, but I gave up this attempt for fear I would pull away from him in disgust and make matters worse.

I set the mask on the table, and Erik thanked me profusely, going off to finish dinner. However, it would take him a little while to do so, and I wanted to see what on earth he had done to my room with the flowers.

Upon opening the door of the Louis-Philippe room, I clutched my sides as I laughed. He had made the bedroom into a veritable garden! The entire place reeked of every floral perfume imaginable, from roses and forget-me-nots to daisies and lilacs.

Then I heard Erik coming down the hall, and his horrible features were contorted in confusion. I covered my mouth to keep from screaming at the sight of his face, as it still had the tendency to startle me.

"Is something the matter?" He asked.

"No, no, they're lovely." I replied, beaming painfully. "They're wonderful! I love them so much."

His lips twitched at the corners, and he returned to the kitchen. I went about my room, examining my new roommates. I also found he had bought a few presents for me, which perhaps he had forgotten about... somehow. They were prettily wrapped by the pillows of my bed, but I hesitated to open them. Often he wanted to see my expression when I did, which I most always had to fake.

There is nothing that wounds the heart so much as feigning joy.

We had dinner as usual, with me eating a dainty amount while he watched from across the table. Occasionally he would bring up some random topic or another to get rid of the awkward silence, but mostly it remained.

When I was finished, he took my plate into the kitchen, and I went to sit in the living room. I folded my hands in my lap, patiently waiting for him to take his place at the piano as usual. It was strange falling back into this routine... this unstable life...

That was when a sound, like an electric bell, rang. It pounded in my ears, so I put my hands over them, looking about for Erik for an explanation. He ignored me, instead rushing to the door and pulling on his jacket with a wild gleam in his eyes.

"What is that, Erik?" I asked, frightened.

"The siren, my dear Christine." He told me happily. "Stay here, she needs to feed."

He shut the door, chuckling, and I darted over to it, pounding on the hard wood.

"Erik!" I cried. "Erik, what do you mean?"

The bell had stopped ringing, and my stomach churned. Was the siren a real monster down here? And what did he mean, _feed_? This had never happened before!

I moaned, pressing my forehead to the door before withdrawing. For a while I paced nervously, fidgeting with the ring on my finger. I had gotten into the habit of pulling it off, spinning it, then replacing it before repeating the action. For good reason, I did not wish Erik to see me treating his ring in such a manner, but it had ironically become a good way to comfort my anxiety.

Finally he returned, soaking wet, dripping all over the carpet. But curiously, his jacket was dry.

"Erik, are you alright?" I asked tentatively. "What happened? Why are you all wet?"

His eyes had that mad gleam in them still, and I backed away instinctively as they came to rest on me. The thin thread his sanity dwelt on had momentarily frayed, if not broken, and I had to try to now mend it.

"Christine, do you ever have hallucinations?" He asked me strangely, removing his dry jacket and hanging it up.

"N-no."

"Well, come here, let me show you something."

"Erik, I- Erik!" I cried as he took me by my waist and carried me out to the edge of the lake. "Don't drop me in! Don't drop me!"

"No, no, of course not." He replied calmly. "But besides, Christine, the siren is full. She would not hurt you."

"Erik, what do you want me to see?" I pleaded, "After I see whatever it is, will we go back inside?"

"Yes, we will. Look out there, into the dark. Focus on one spot, far away... Do you see things? Shapes? Images?"

I nodded, "Yes, yes I-"

"You lie! You must focus for a long while, with no light. I'm going to close the door-"

"Erik, please-"

"Wait here while I close it."

I swallowed, hugging myself in the dark. It'll be over soon, I told myself. He'll come back to his senses soon, very soon, if I scream loud enough, perhaps.

He came up behind me, and I had no need to fake a scream when he took my wrist. My cry was entirely earnest. But it seemed to do nothing to him; he simply reassured me that it was just him there beside me. Then he instructed me to look back out upon the lake and try to see the siren, or anything else. I nodded, pretending to be searching for it when truly I was praying that I would faint away.

At least he wasn't holding me anymore.

"Do you see her?" Erik asked.

I shivered, "I see something on the lake, like the waters are moving, and... and a shadow over the water."

"A shadow? Let's go closer, Christine-"

I screamed, "Erik, but the siren, you told me if I fell in the siren would get me!... Can't we go back inside? I'm frightened."

"The siren is full," he replied simply.

Then I did see a figure, pale in the darkness, bobbing in the water... like a... a...

"Is that someone?" I asked tremulously, pointing my shaking hand out across the lake. "Is it?"

"No. You're hallucinating. See? Now we can go back."

I sighed in relief. Perhaps he was right, or... what had I seen? A hallucination or... could it have been a corpse?

"Now we play music," Erik told me, gesturing to the piano.

"Y-you're still soaking wet," I said.

"Yes, of course, let me change, then we shall play music."

How had he forgotten he was drenched in lake water? Wasn't he freezing?

I sat down on the sofa with a sigh. Oh, to be back home with maman...


	3. Chapter 3: Lemon

***Extended (a lot) and revised.**

 **I'm fixing a lot of inconsistencies, too. Especially in the next chapter.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The next day, I prepared myself to return home, though I remembered how fickle he was with his promises. Still, I put on the pale green dress he had bought me as a present the previous day (I had opened them all in front of him just before bed), and pinned and curled my hair. The color had returned to my cheeks during my absence, but now that I had returned my already pale pallor had drained back to how it was before. Even the freckles that I had admired the previous day seemed now barely noticeable.

I bit my lip, but I told myself it would be fine. I would go home and spend the week with maman, away from this dreadful place. Away from poor Erik and his tears...

When I ventured outside my room, however, he was nowhere to be found. Not in the dining room, drawing room, or even his room, which I entered after a long moment of indecision. I called for him, but no reply came.

"Where on earth could he be?" I demanded aloud, going back into my room with a sickening feeling in my stomach.

There I found a note addressed to me that I had (as always with these things) somehow missed:

"My dearest Christine,

I have gone out shopping for the morning and will return at eleven o'clock. Breakfast is in the dining room. You will not be returning home today, but tomorrow, due to the need for another lesson.

Erik"

I slammed the paper onto the table, burying my head in my hands. Breathe, breathe...

Oh, he knew very well that I was to go home today! He had told me I would go home, he had told me, and he couldn't just keep me here against my will again! Didn't he know that was wrong? Before, of course, it was due to his fear I wouldn't come back, and yes, that was also wrong but at least rational... I had to speak with him.

But what if he wouldn't return me at all? What if it was all a lie, the visits and such? Had he changed his mind? And shopping for _what?_

"Oh, Erik, why can't you understand love?" I said aloud with an irritated sigh. "This would be so much simpler if you did, you poor man."

After eating the fruit and tartine he had set out for my breakfast, I roamed about the house for a while, picking up random books, reading a line or two, then promptly returning them. For a few minutes I tried to knit, but I had no desire to without maman. And I hated needlework unless absolutely necessary.

I ended up collapsing on the sofa in the drawing room, staring up at the ceiling in boredom.

The front door opened, and I averted my eyes and crossed my arms in childish frustration.

"I bought you a gift!" He said happily.

"Oh?" I replied with nonchalance, refusing to look at him.

"It's for you to not feel so lonely when you are here for your visits," he told me, seeming to not realize that I was upset. "Look!... Why do you keep your head down?"

I sighed irritably as I looked up at him and found, to my surprise, that he was holding a birdcage in his arms. Inside was the fattest canary I had ever seen, and indeed it seemed no more than a feathery lemon at first.

"Oh... Is that for me?" I asked.

His face fell, "Do you not want it?"

"No, no, I do... Will he go in here?"

"Wherever you want him to go. And you can name him, and feed him, and I'll care for him while you're gone."

I gave him a skeptical glance that he, fortunately, missed. He could barely care for himself, much less another creature. He even neglected me on accident every once in a while, so how on earth would this poor little bird last even a week?

"You were so lonely when I had to leave before," he said sadly. "You cried once..."

"I was afraid you wouldn't come back."

That wasn't entirely a lie... I didn't want him to die and then leave me to rot in the house, with no one knowing where I was.

"I'll always come back, Christine," he told me, which was meant to be comforting, but it made me shudder. "And besides, you don't need to worry about that, you're safer here than anywhere else-"

Unless he went mad and tried to murder me, of course.

"-Far safer, even if I never came back, which I won't, but if- just don't worry about that, I love you and I couldn't bear it if you were hurt."

"Then why am I staying another day?" I demanded.

"You need another lesson."

"But you promised I would go home today, you promised-"

"Erik doesn't make promises," he chuckled, fidgeting.

"But Erik, I'm visiting as a friend. People don't keep their friends longer than they want to."

"You don't want to stay?" He asked, his eyes wide with pain.

"No, no, I do like it here, because of your music, and you, but it _is_ underground, Erik, and when you're gone I feel like I'm suffocating."

"But I won't leave again! Not today. You'll go home tomorrow morning, and we can spend all the time until then with music."

"And then I get to go home?"

"Of course." He said matter-of-factly. "You have to attend rehearsals."

I exhaled in relief. Yes, rehearsals, he wouldn't let me miss any more of those... would he?

"I need to hang him in here," he told me, starting to walk away with the bird. Then he stopped dead in his tracks and was consumed with hideous laughter.

"What's so funny, Erik?" I demanded, his laugher sending chills up me.

"Nothing, nothing... hang him!..." he laughed again, and I understood the joke, but not why it was so humorous to him.

He placed the birdcage on an end table and went over to the corner to set up a stand for it. While he did this, I reached my hand into the cage to pet the canary, and it let out an adorable little chirp just before nipping my finger. I jerked my hand away with a barely audible cry, but within moments Erik had my hand in his and was examining it as if I had an infection.

"Erik, really," I said shakily. "I just scared him, I'm fine."

"I should take it back," he told me quietly. "It shouldn't bite you."

"No, it's fine. I'm not hurt."

"You're bleeding."

"I scared him-"

Without warning, he grabbed the bird in his fist and pulled it out of the cage. It squawked horribly, and I cried out in confusion, grabbing Erik's arm.

"Erik, what are you-? Don't kill him!"

He hesitated. It may have been the first time he had hesitated and listened to me like that, so suddenly, without me sobbing and pleading.

"Why not?" He asked, as if I was the one bent on enacting twisted justice on an innocent canary.

"It's an animal." I retorted. "It doesn't know right or wrong!... I like it a lot, I want to keep it, it was just frightened is all."

"But it hurt you."

You've hurt me more.

"Give it another chance," I offered. "I really do like it."

He obliged and placed the poor canary back in its cage, where it puffed up even more than before so that now it was nearly spherical. Then, indignant, it chirped twice, hideously, before beginning a little tune, perhaps to its savior.

"There. Are you content?" Erik asked, gesturing to the cornered and caged canary.

"Yes."

"Do you need that bandaged?" He gestured to my hand.

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"It'll stop bleeding soon. It doesn't hurt at all."

He nodded, skeptical, then he glanced over at the bird, "What have you named it?"

"Lemon."

He almost smiled at this, amused by me. The name was certainly perfect, and I hoped that Lemon would be around when I returned.

If I returned...

"Shall we play music?" Erik offered.

"I'm hungry, Erik. Could we have an early lunch first?"

"Oh, forgive me, Erik is so neglectful! What would you like?"

"Have you bought any fish recently?"

"Yes, my dear, do you want that?"

"Yes, please. Then we can play music."

"Good," he said happily, going into the hidden kitchen. For some reason I wasn't permitted in there.

I went over to Lemon, who was on a little swing in the middle of his cage, rocking back and forth like a big yellow pendulum.

"Hello, dearie, why did you bite me?" I inquired in a sing-song voice, then I whispered, "We have to be very well behaved here, you know, and very nice to Erik. Okay?"

He blinked and started to preen his tail feathers, and I sighed, "I am going mad. I'm talking to a bird!"

I went into my room, needing something to do. So I brushed through my hair, humming to raise my mood, then re-pinned it up in the fashionable way. Fashion! What did that matter down here?

So I pulled out the pins and shook my head to let my blonde curls fall down, shine some light in this tomb. Maybe Erik liked it better like that, anyway. He had never said. But it was far less heavy for me, and I thought it made my face look more round and full.

"Christine?" Erik called.

I went out to him, clasping my hands in my skirts, "Is lunch ready?"

"You changed your hair." He remarked.

"Yes, I did. It's more comfortable."

"Then why pin it up?"

"That's what everyone else does, and it looks pretty."

"You always look beautiful... Maybe... maybe we should try that on Erik, then."

I emitted a short little laugh, and he seemed quite pleased with himself.

"You've never told me, what makes you laugh?" He inquired.

"Erik, isn't my food getting cold?"

"Oh, yes, forgive me, come sit down... Will you tell me now?"

"Let me pray and eat first."

"Of course."

I thought it necessary to pray for every meal down there, and every night before I slept in that soft bed. Maybe it was a superstition, in a sense, that nothing truly terrible would occur if I kept saying my prayers. But I didn't really believe in a lot of my religion after all that had occurred... And I often forgot my prayers regardless of superstition.

"So what makes you laugh?" He asked again, once my hands had unfolded.

"Lots of things." I replied, taking a bite of the fish.

"Like what?"

"Sometimes you say little things that are amusing. And I enjoy puns as much as anyone."

The corners of his thin mouth rose a little, "Yes, even Erik likes those... How is it?" He gestured to my plate.

"Very good, thank you... What piece are we playing later?"

"We'll see."

"Erik, you can't keep me here if we don't have a lesson planned-"

"Forgive Erik!" He cried suddenly, nearly making me fall backwards off my chair as he came over to me on his knees. "He couldn't bear to let you go home so soon, it's so miserable when you're gone, please forgive him, he doesn't want to upset you, he only loves you and wants to be with you always!"

"Then why didn't you ask?" I replied, trying to steady myself.

"Because you want to go home, since it has windows, and real doors, and the sun... even though it doesn't have music like down here."

I sighed, "I'm going home early tomorrow morning. I tell you I am... I'll stay for one more night, but next time you must ask me or I'll be very upset and distressed."

"No, no, my dear, forgive me, you're so kind to your poor Erik! No one is ever kind to him as you are..."

"You're my friend, Erik, and I care about you a great deal."

He sobbed happily, kissing the hem of my dress and remaining there at my feet as I finished my lunch. Then he took my plate away and I went over to the piano, a cup of water in my hands for my voice. Singing after eating was not advisable, so I took a few sips as I began my arpeggios.

The water in Erik's home was strange. It was almost always hot, like he had just boiled it, and sometimes it had a strange taste in it that I couldn't place. He had also told me not to drink any bath water, and when I had asked why, he had said that it wasn't safe. But he was far more intelligent than I, so I accepted his words.

"How lovely you sound," he told me as he came into the room. "Like an angel... but the highest pitch is flat, just a little. Try again."

I sighed. He was a perfectionist, and he saw me as perfection being perfected. There was no other way to explain it.

He loved to compliment me, though, shower me in praise, but this was always accompanied by "less vibrato," "more crescendo," " _dulce_ , Christine, sweet and soft." And things of that nature.

But he had turned my voice into something I barely understood. Sometimes it frightened me, as his voice frightened me. Imagine! My own voice causing me to shiver! Many times I had to catch my breath and remind myself that it was I singing, as it astounded me what he had done to it in a mere four months.

We spent a few hours with music, then I read for a time, and after dinner, we played music again. After a little over an hour of this, however, I was tiring.

"You yawned," he remarked, hesitating as he turned a page. "Do you want to stop?"

"No, this is nice." I replied. "Am I doing well?"

"Wonderfully, my dear, except you shouldn't force the vibrato on that A sharp. Let it come naturally."

"It doesn't feel natural."

"Then sing it without thinking about vibrato. You hit the note, just not the music, though it's lovely regardless. We must simply make it divine."

"I'll try."

But I yawned again after that attempt, so he made me stop and told me to retire, maybe take a bath to relax myself before bed. He had bought me special perfumes that I could use in it, if I wanted, he said.

"Goodnight, Erik," I told him. "Don't let me sleep in, please."

"But you'll have breakfast here?" He pleaded.

"Yes, then we'll leave. Could you take me back by nine o'clock?"

"Ten, Christine, ten so that you won't be rushed, and I won't have to wake you."

"Alright," I sighed. "Ten o'clock. Not a minute later."

"Not a minute," he agreed. "Goodnight, my dear."

I slipped into the Louis-Philippe room, inhaling the colorful scent of all those beautiful flowers as I undressed for my bath, which I had started already. I found the perfumes, which seemed to be crystals of fragrant salt, and I sprinkled in a handful.

If it wasn't for hot baths down there, I might have gone insane...

I went to bed still warm from the bath, sighing into my soft pillow. Tomorrow he would take me home. Please let him take me home...

In the morning, I dressed and prettied myself up as I had the day before. I put on my gray dress I had worn before, which I needed to mend, as one of the seams had torn along the hem, but Erik didn't like seeing me do work. He hadn't forbidden it, but the first time he had caught me mending a dress he had promptly sent it away to a seamstress, and it had come back a day later, perfect as the day it had been bought.

So I hoped he wouldn't notice. I couldn't wear one of the nice dresses he had bought without being suspected of being a mistress, even though I assumed rumors were going around already.

Erik made me breakfast, as he had promised, though he kept looking at his watch, counting down the minutes. It was terrible to see, but I had to go home.

"It's ten," he said forlornly. "Let me put on my jacket, get your cloak, my dear."

I clipped it around my shoulders, struggling to conceal my happiness. He helped me into the boat, silent, and began to row me across the lake.

Soon I would be back home, and the cycle would begin again.


	4. Chapter 4: The Vicomte

"Don't leave me, Christine," Erik pleaded, clinging to the hem of my skirt.

We were finally behind my mirror and _now_ he decided to do this?

"Erik, I promise to return, you know I will return," I told him, shutting my eyes in pity and irritation. "And while I'm gone you can work on your opera. I have to be gone for you to work."

He sobbed, "I'm so lonely, all by myself in that house... You promise to return?"

"Yes, yes, I promise. Erik, you're going to tear my skirts. You bought me this dress, remember?"

He let out another sob. "Yes, you look so beautiful in it... like an angel..."

"And remember, Erik, we will have lessons every night like always." I said, trying to sound cheery. "You won't miss me very much at all. I'll be back before you know it."

He nodded, slowly letting the hem of my dress slip through his fingers like sap. The mirror shut, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then I heard a familiar voice from the hallway.

"Do you know where Christine Daaé is?" it asked. "She's been missing for a while now, hasn't she? I heard she came back, but then left again?"

I peeked outside my dressing room door, and there was Raoul speaking to Meg Giry, of all people. She was in her white and blue skirt, a daisy in her dark hair.

"Monsieur, I don't know," she replied, skipping away like she couldn't care less.

He groaned, then said softly to himself, sounding a little insane, "She's been gone for three weeks now! Where on earth-?"

I stepped outside my door. His eyes met mine, his beautiful blue eyes, like the ocean all those many years ago...

"Christine!" he cried, forgetting himself entirely. Had he grown at all, or was he still a boy? "Where have you been? I've been inquiring of you to everyone and no one knows where-"

"Monsieur, I apologize for pretending to not recognize you," I said calmly, stopping him dead in his tracks with my coolness of tone. "I additionally apologize for my sudden absence, as I assume you would have liked to speak with me. But, monsieur, we are no longer children, are we? I would ask that you leave me to my life and not go around inquiring of me when you have no right to."

"Well, Christine, I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable, you know. I was simply, well, you see..." He stumbled over his words adorably. "I'm going on an expedition within the week, and I just found you again. I only wanted to see you before I left."

"Oh... A week?" I said, starting to think hard on this.

"Yes, in a week. Because of that, a-and other things, I want to have dinner with you tonight."

I blushed. "I can't. People will talk, you know that they will."

"Oh... I suppose... But, I do have to ask-"

"Raoul, I need to go home."

"Could I come talk to you there?"

I averted my eyes sadly, folding my hands in my skirts. "No... no, you can't-"

"Are you engaged?" he asked in surprise, his eyes latching onto my ring.

I covered it up with my other hand, my face burning. I retorted hotly, "It is my business whether I am engaged or not! Please, don't trouble yourself with me!"

With that, I fled from him. He called after me, but I was already gone. I was struggling to keep my eyes dry as I took the carriage home, and upon entering, my greeting to Mamma was silence as I shut the door and fell upon my bed, sobbing.

I had been so cold to him! Oh, had I hurt his feelings? I ought to have. But why had Raoul distressed me so, unless...? Unless I loved him?

No, no, I couldn't! Erik would be furious! I couldn't love Raoul, and besides, he would be gone soon, on an expedition... Far away on an expedition...

It was then that I had a sudden, mad idea.

The next night was my lesson, and after tactfully telling Erik that I had missed him, but that I was glad to be back home as well, I added that I had met up with an old friend of mine.

"Who?" he asked, and I could tell he was nervous.

"Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny. He's going on an expedition soon, so I wanted to spend time with him before he goes."

Silence.

"Erik?" I asked, biting my lip.

"How soon?" he demanded.

"A week, perhaps the day I come to visit you again. I know you love me very much, so I wanted to make sure you would be comfortable with it."

"Will it make you happy?"

"Yes. We are very dear friends, you see."

"This is the boy who came on your night of triumph?"

I hesitated a moment. "Yes."

Again, silence as he took a moment to think.

"You may see him," he told me.

My chest filled with heat at this, even though this delighted me. How dare he allow me to see someone? Why should I have to ask him? It was my right to see whomever I pleased. But I had to appease him or else I didn't know what would happen.

"Thank you," I said, tasting the bitterness of the words in my mouth.

"Now, let's begin your lesson."


	5. Chapter 5: The Inquiry

I invited Raoul over for dinner instead of the other way around, thinking it less likely to draw attention. This was Mamma's place, after all. Of course, he was a vicomte, and I typically cooked for myself rather simple meals, but upon hearing that a young man was coming over, Mamma let me splurge a little.

Like a child, I stared out the window, waiting for him to come to the door. I wanted to have a friend again, if only for the week. I wanted to speak to someone normal and kind and to be myself in their presence, and not have to take care choosing every word.

I suppose I would still have to do that with him, but to a far lesser extent.

The knock came, and I hastened to answer it. Mamma smiled from where she sat in an armchair, knitting a rather lumpy sock. Upon seeing me, Raoul kissed my hand like a gentleman, and I could feel my face turning red as a cherry.

Why did such a simple gesture do that to me?

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Of course, yes," I replied, stumbling over my words a little. Oh, to forget all the horrors in my life and talk to Raoul again, if only for tonight!

"Bonsoir, monsieur," Mamma said, continuing to knit as she spoke. "Christine has not stopped preparing the place all day. She even took leave of her lessons for you."

"Mamma, my lessons are private," I told her, rather more crossly than I would have liked.

"Of course, dear."

"Raoul, do you want to talk in the kitchen? I still have some things to make; I didn't plan out everything as well as I should have."

"If you want, of course," he replied.

He sat down at the table, and immediately asked if I would tell him where I had been. No subtlety, a blatant question that I had already begged him not to ask of me. I sighed, pausing for a moment.

"I was rather rude to you last time," I told him. "And I offer my apologies again, but well, I do not have to answer to you. What I do is none of your concern... I invited you so that we could reminisce and, well, I'm rather curious as to your expedition, if you wanted to share the details with me."

"Christine, you left without a word before I could tell you..." He fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve. "I still love you."

I turned sharply to him. I could tell he had wanted the reveal to be dramatic, romantic, and for me to be delighted, but I was frowning, upset at this, for it was doomed, and, heaven forbid, I was almost certain I loved him, too!

"Raoul," I sighed. The day was full of sighs. "You saw my ring the other day."

"But you acted like you were not engaged, like you were ashamed-"

"Because I was ashamed! I am, but I will not tell you why. I cannot tell you why, dear Raoul."

"You call me dear and yet will not confide in me. Who is the man who has the audacity to put that ring on your finger?"

I put my hand to my forehead. "I call you dear because you were my only friend save my father for the longest time. I have this ring on my hand and secrets in my heart and they are not yours to know! I am my own woman, and I can tell what I wish and keep what I do not! As to what has occurred of late, only one person can ask that of me: my husband! But I am not married, nor do I ever intend to be... Forget that I was gone, for I will not tell you anything." My eyes stung as I fought back tears. "I just want to talk about something, anything else. Why should we part ways again like this? You have only five more days left here. I want to spend those days with my dear friend Raoul whom I have missed these many years."

"And I with you."

I regained control of my tears and successfully kept them away. Then I turned to him, smiling gently.

"Then what shall we discuss first?"

We spent the night like that, talking for eternity and yet no time at all. The apartment came alive with talk of Sweden and the memory of my father's violin. We compared our memories of the same times, where they diverged, and argued happily about dissimilarities between them.

I had never been so at ease before, and when he left I felt a part of me had left with him. I continued smiling for Mamma, but that night I fell asleep deeply troubled.

What if there was no Erik? How would things be different?

But such thoughts were silly, because there was Erik.

And he would never leave me.

The next night, I spoke to Raoul for quite a while in my dressing room before saying goodbye to him so that I could have my lesson. He kissed my hand before leaving, and I glanced at the mirror, fearful should Erik be jealous.

When the door to my dressing room shut, I went over to the mirror, a little flustered. Erik addressed me kindly, as if nothing had just occurred to upset him whatsoever. In fact, he seemed happier than normal. After the lesson, I even inquired as to why this was.

"The boy loves you, does he not, Christine?" Erik replied.

"Well, yes." I said, fidgeting with my ring a moment before quickly ceasing the habit.

"Then he is very unhappy now. Before he leaves on his expedition, I want him to be as unhappy as I am."

He bade me goodnight and I left the opera house, greatly distressed. Unhappy? Was Raoul so unhappy that it would make Erik happy to see him instead of jealous? What if I was making things worse for poor Raoul as opposed to being kind before he left on his expedition, which was now only four days away?

Mamma was becoming increasingly worried about me. She kept asking more and more about what exactly had occurred to me, and I had to lie or simply say it was a secret between the Angel and I. I felt wicked lying to her, but what else was I to say? Yes, I keep visiting a poor deformed madman who lives under the opera house to try and show him love while also making sure he doesn't have a sudden change of mind and shut me up with him for eternity?

Even in my head it was insane.

The next day I came home to find Raoul talking to Mamma, and I was indignant. How dare he try to investigate me? When he could quite possibly be in danger? How dare he go behind my back and-?

"Welcome home, dear," Maman said happily. "Your friend has been waiting for you for quite some time now."

"Mamma," I replied, ready to explode but too exhausted to, "what have you been discussing?"

"I asked her about the angel of music," Raoul informed me triumphantly. "I did hear you, I knew it! You are being deceived by this man and when I followed you to Perros-"

"Mamma, don't listen to him," I said, then I turned to Raoul in dismay. "You don't know what you're speaking of. I can tell you I am doing perfectly well. If I need help I will ask for it! I thought we had talked about this! You had agreed to stop meddling in my affairs!"

"I'm concerned about you," he told me. "And what about this note?"

He held up the muddy, tattered piece of paper that I had thrown from the brougham. I had actually somewhat forgotten about it, as it had landed in a puddle and would be unnoticeable and unreadable. But the runny ink did appear somewhat visible.

"I must ask you to leave," I told him harshly. "If you cannot respect my right to privacy then I will not allow you here."

"Christine, I'm concerned about you as well," Mamma told me. "Is it true? Is it not an angel that you go to visit?"

I fidgeted nervously with the ring. "It is an angel, maman. Raoul knows it is an angel, after eavesdropping on me! And..." I glanced over at Raoul in sudden realization. "Did... did you say Perros, before? I thought you didn't come."

"I did, and I, well, I..." Raoul hesitated. "I don't know what I saw there. But whatever it was, you shouldn't be anywhere near it."

"Oh, and you are to tell me what I can and can't be near?" I retorted.

"Someone has to."

"And you wish to never see me again, with this as our goodbye? Two more days with you here? What can you do for me in that time, anyway? I do not want your help, nor did I ask for it."

"But Christine, I care about you."

"Thank you for your sentiment," I replied coldly. "But if you cannot cease inquiring as to my life, my private life!, then... I don't know what!"

Mamma and Raoul looked at each other for a moment as I put my head in my hands, trying to breathe. What was I going to do with the both of them?

"Will you let me visit tomorrow?" Raoul asked tentatively, coming over to me. "If we can reminisce some more?"

I nodded. "Yes, of course you may... I'm tired, I think, and I ought to retire early tonight."

"Until tomorrow."

He kissed my hand before leaving, and I could tell he was deeply perturbed. I rubbed the back of my hand where his lips, and the hairs of his little gold mustache, had been moments before.

If only I was free...


	6. Chapter 6: Alone

The last day I had with Raoul was already upon me. I begged Erik to let me go to dinner with him, which meant missing another lesson. To my complete surprise, he agreed, perhaps because I would be visiting the house on the lake the next day.

I didn't care about what anyone would think that night. I put on the loveliest dress that Erik had bought for me (which he had insisted upon, probably to irritate Raoul). I also curled my hair and pinned it up in the fashionable way.

My last day with Raoul needed to be wonderful. It was all I had.

He came to fetch me, and I was giddy with girlish delight. We talked all night long again, this time less about memories and more about Raoul's expedition. I was glad to sit and eat and listen, and not have to think or worry. There was no worrying with Raoul, and he was always so perfectly nervous, but trained like a proper gentleman, though still very boyish.

With him I felt like a child again. I had been so abruptly forced from that innocence of late that it was a relief to return to it. And he was childish, too, telling me about his expedition.

"Why the North Pole?" I asked him. "Why not, oh, I don't know, America or some other country?"

"Don't you think me brave for going up there?" Was his reply.

"No," I teased, wrinkling my nose as I sipped my champagne. "I think you're rather silly. You'll be so cold up there, with nothing but penguins for company."

"Penguins don't live in the North Pole, Christine."

"What does, then?"

"Not much, really. That's why I'm going, to find out if there is something... What if I become famous?"

"Raoul, you're already the Vicomte de Chagny, your brother is the patron of the Paris Opera House, and you're wondering if you will become famous?" I smiled. "Of course, to me you'll always be the little boy who went into the sea to fetch my scarf. You know that."

"So you don't see me as famous?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes."

I laughed again. Oh, how wonderful it was to laugh in this way! I didn't have to care or worry about anything, save making sure I didn't drink too much champagne. In the end, a did perhaps have a tiny bit too much, but not enough to cause anything save more laughter.

It was late at night when he returned me to maman, and on the doorstep I suddenly turned to him, confused by myself. I had a sudden desire to kiss him, and I wondered if he wanted the same. Or perhaps it was just an impulse encouraged by the champagne.

"Raoul?" I asked timidly. "As you are to be leaving, I want to leave you with something to remember."

Oh, that came out far better than I thought it would.

"What?" He replied.

I leaned forward, not truly knowing what I was doing, nor did I think he really knew either, but we embraced and kissed in a perfect, romantic way. Nothing was awkward or uncomfortable, oddly enough. The moon and stars were bright above us in a clear night sky. The moment was pristine, exceptional, beyond any word I could use. Everything was lovely and perfect and beautiful and... and...

And then he was gone.

The next day I had to go back down to Erik, down into that horrible tomb, now truly knowing what it was like to love someone you could never have.

Oh, Erik, you poor soul...

"Let me take your cloak," he offered.

I nodded tiredly, letting him unclasp and remove it from my shoulders.

"Are you unwell, my little Christine?" He asked, concerned.

"Maybe a little..." I replied, struggling to conceal my emotions. "Or it could be that I'm just tired. I stayed up too late last night."

He nodded, "Yes, perhaps... Your bird is doing rather well, although he doesn't seem to like my composing."

Well, of course not! You've probably scared the daylights out of him, banging on your organ all the time.

"It must be loud for him," I said, looking down at my skirt.

"Have I upset you?" Erik asked nervously. "You keep sighing and pouting."

"I know... I think I'll take a nap, if you don't mind."

"Let me play for you, and you can fall asleep here, in the drawing room," he offered.

"Erik, I want to be in my room... Alone, please."

Oh, what had I walked into now? His horrible face was heart-wrenching after I said these words.

"You want to be alone?" He asked softly, deeply hurt.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that-"

"I am always alone!" He cried, making me squeak with fright. "Every week I am alone with my music, without you, and I die down here without you, my little Christine! You do not understand what it is like to be truly alone down here, with nothing but your own thoughts for company... And my head, the thoughts inside my head, Christine, they frighten me as much as you! And you would leave me alone now, alone with my thoughts? Oh, my mother, my poor unhappy mother always left me alone with my thoughts, always! She only let me be with her if I wore my mask, and even then she would scream and... No, Christine, you cannot go into your room! I have been lonely without you and you promised to visit and spend time with me, your poor Erik! So you will remain in the drawing room with me."

I nodded shakily, glad he had not done anything more than yell, but still, it was terribly frightening when he yelled. The whole house trembled when he did, and I with it.

Upon sitting down on the sofa, however, whatever had been holding back my tears suddenly shattered. My cheeks began to sting with them, and Erik handed me a few handkerchiefs.

"Don't cry, don't cry," he pleaded while I tried to regain my composure. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I just don't want to be alone, my dear Christine. What a frail thing you are! Erik is always so forgetful of how frail and delicate you young women are... Are you better now? Shall I play now, to remedy your tears?"

I just wanted him to shut up for a moment, so I nodded. He took his place at the harp, made a quick intonation check, then began the same lullaby I had heard before on my very first day.

He must have realized that if I was asleep I wouldn't cry.


	7. Chapter 7: Champagne

When I woke, I was still on the sofa, but Erik was nowhere to be seen. It was entirely dark, and it would have been opaque had there not been a lit candle beside me.

What time was it? Was he _actually_ asleep, like a normal person?

I illuminated the drawing room, as I was not at all tired anymore, and shuffled off to find him. He had made me miss dinner due to his fit, which had made sense, of course. He had been more alone this week than I had ever let him be before, so it should not have surprised me that he would have an outburst.

I would have simply made myself something, but Erik had refused to show me how to get into the kitchen. As I went to his bedroom door, I had a sudden realization and withdrew my hand from it. Why should I disturb him? Surely if I knew where the kitchen was I could figure out how to get inside it. And really, was a snack worth waking Erik?

I fastened one of my buttons that had come undone while I slept, then approached the back wall of the dining room. I ran my hands over the walls, which were covered in wallpaper to make them look normal. Behind them was what seemed to be solid stone.

"Oh, Erik, why do you insist upon these strange things?" I muttered, becoming frustrated as the paper did not give way to any secrets. Surely there must be a button or lock or something.

As I ran my fingertips down the thin veins in between the strips of wallpaper, taking care not to damage anything, Erik's bedroom door creaked open. I jumped back immediately, but since his door led to the dining room he could easily see what I had been doing.

That is, he would have, had he not stumbled out of his room as if drunk. But he wasn't intoxicated, was he?

"Why are you up?" He asked me, rubbing his head with fatigue.

I had shut my eyes to make sure I wouldn't scream at the sudden sight of him. Something about seeing his face in the darkness made it more difficult to control my fear of the horror that was his visage.

"Why am I up?" I replied sarcastically. "I'm hungry, Erik. You didn't feed me dinner and you refuse to show me how to get into the kitchen."

He rubbed the bridge of his- well, not nose, obviously, more like the spot between his eyes. But why was he so exhausted? It wasn't like I had woken him up, quiet as I was being.

"Why are you so upset with me?" He said belatedly. "Erik has his reasons for keeping the kitchen secret, he always had reasons, you know this... What would you like to eat? I would never let you go hungry."

"Well, at the moment I just want to see for myself."

"I'm not in the mood for your frivolous curiosity." He sighed. "You will ask for what you want or you will receive nothing at all."

I crossed my arms, "Fine, alright, I can see that you're tired... Um..." I didn't want to trouble him too much. "Um... I'm actually not all that hungry. Could I just have some wine and cheese?"

"Yes, go sit down and I'll bring it to you."

He didn't sound quite right, and he almost stumbled into the wall instead of the hidden kitchen door. It was as if he had not been sleeping at all, but had been up all night running around the opera house... Well, perhaps he had been. That would explain it.

"Here, my little Christine. If you need anything don't hesitate to wake me."

"Thank you, Erik," I replied as he shuffled back into his bedroom and shut the door.

I shivered at the momentary vision of that room. Imagine, sleeping in a coffin! No wonder he looked like death whenever he woke- well, he always looked like death, but even more so when he had just woken up.

At least he seemed to be sleeping, though. Perhaps he would be in a better mood in the morning... Assuming it was not morning already.

"Oh, I forgot to ask him the time!" I groaned, sighing irritably.

I plopped down onto the sofa with a moan then picked up my book and read until Erik woke up again. He looked surprisingly well, for him, and came over to me in high spirits.

"Christine, my little angel," he said happily, "I had a wonderful idea for how we should spend today."

"Music?" I offered with a generous amount of snark.

"Music is constant down here. Even the darkness is music, and the way the lake water laps at the shore-"

"Erik, what are we doing today?" I sighed.

He seemed to not notice my far from eager inflection, and continued, "Yes, of course. We are going to the park. Well, not the park, exactly, somewhere more hidden than the park, just for us."

"When?"

"Just before lunch. We could have a picnic, if you want. Erik has never had a picnic before."

"I'm still not feeling very well," I told him, then sighed (again). "But maybe the fresh air will help."

He clapped his hands together, causing me to give a little start, "Yes, it will help you. You should get ready, have you bathed yet?"

"No. I've been reading all night... What time is it, anyway?"

"Nine o'clock. We'll leave in two hours... Unless that is not enough time for you to get ready? What all must you young women do to prepare?"

Prepare for what? We were going to the park, not a ball!

"Two hours is plenty," I replied simply, shuffling off to my room.

The flowers were wilting and the entire room reeked of them. Had he forgotten to water the poor things in my absence? Well, at least he had remembered Lemon.

"I could throw a fit over that," I muttered to myself as I turned on the bath water. "I could march right out there and throw a tantrum and he would listen to me and do whatever I asked. 'Oh, Erik, my garden is dead! How could you? My poor lilacs!'"

What was with me? I was never this bitter about anything, never!

I placed my hand into the lukewarm stream of water and adjusted the temperature accordingly. Then I started to hum to myself a silly little Swedish tune, and when the bath was full, I shut off the water and my voice.

At least there was one perk to being pent up down here: warm baths.

Well, and music, but warm baths were a close second.

When I finished my soak, which helped soothe my strange mood, I took a rather long time in choosing a dress. He had bought far too many for me, of what seemed every style, color, and design. Most I barely even glanced at, as they were horrendous and gaudy things I wouldn't be caught in by even Erik. The rest were mostly acceptable, but only a few did I actually have a fondness for. One of these, a pale blue dress with a small bustle and white fastenings, I donned for the day, thinking it might brighten my spirit.

Oh, if only it were Raoul and I going to the park...

"Are you ready, Christine?" Erik asked me, knocking on the door.

"Are we in a hurry now?" I retorted.

"No, I need to ask what you want for lunch. I have to prepare it all soon."

"Don't we still have an hour?"

"Maybe we could leave early... Do you not want to go?"

"No, no, I want to, but-"

"Then are you ready?"

"Nearly," I sighed. "Do you want to see?"

"Yes, please, Christine. You always look so beautiful."

I got up from my chair and smoothed out my skirts, then went over to open the door. Erik was, as always, delighted by my appearance, and I attempted a smile when he kissed the hem of my dress with reverence, but it probably appeared as more of a grimace.

"What should I bring for us?" He asked as he rose, showing me into the dining room.

The table was laid out with what seemed an already perfectly prepared lunch. It just needed to be packed.

"Do we have any strawberries and cream?" I suggested.

"Not cream, but we could have strawberries and champagne-"

"No, no," I interrupted. Just the thought of champagne made my heart throb. "It all looks fine- wonderful- the way it is."

He accepted this answer, and soon we were in the boat, rowing across the lake, just the three of us: Erik, myself, and the siren below.


	8. Chapter 8: A Strange Spot

"Erik, um... where on earth are we going?" I demanded.

He had been dragging me through hidden tunnels under the opera house for what seemed at least a half an hour now.

"To where I said, Christine," he told me with a little unveiled irritation.

"But I don't understand. This isn't a park; it's the depths of the opera house."

"Erik never said 'park,' he said a secret place _like_ the park. If Erik went into the park all the women would faint, and everyone would stare. We don't want everyone to stare at us, do we?"

"I wouldn't faint."

"That is because you are much braver and kinder than other women."

"Thank you."

"You should not thank me for making such an obvious observation, my little Christine." He replied, then he suddenly stopped.

"What's wrong-?"

"Shh!" He replied in a hushed voice, staring at something in the distance. "Stay here."

"Erik, don't leave me-"

"Shh!"

His sudden change in demeanor frightened me, so I remained, leaning against the wall in the pitch black tunnel. He knew I was afraid of the dark, so why was he leaving me alone in it?

And why on _earth_ did he trust me to stay?

As he disappeared around a bend my breath caught in my throat. Who, or _what,_ had he seen?

That was when I heard voices, two male voices, talking to each other. I crept closer to the noise, but not enough to be disobedient. Then I realized one voice was Erik's, and the other had a definite accent... one I had heard before...

I dared move further along the wall, and that was when I heard Erik cry out, "It is no concern of yours! Leave Erik's secrets alone, or else they shall cease to be secret, and you shall cease to draw breath!"

They began conversing again, oddly enough, then one walked away down a separate tunnel, and the other approached me. My heart thudded for a moment, and I clapped a hand over my mouth in seeing Erik's features illuminated by the light of the lantern.

"Come along, Christine," he told me, taking my wrist. "We are late for our picnic!"

"Who was that, Erik?" I asked.

"Who?"

"The man you were talking to."

"Erik was talking to no one. Come along now, we're nearly there."

"But _where_ , Erik? Oh!"

Only Erik could have made such strange thing as this. A hidden doorway opened in the wall to reveal a room adorned with fake trees and foliage. In the center was a red and white picnic blanket, in all normalcy.

And I had thought we were actually going to the park...

"Sit down, Christine, let me get out our plates and cups."

The wall closed, sealing the room in. Was there vent of some kind? There were a good deal of candles in that room and their smoke needed somewhere to go. Erik had explained to me all about that one time, and it had been surprisingly interesting.

"Isn't it pretty?" He asked happily. "Our own little park."

He could at least call it a garden, for even if the plants were real, the room was far too small to be considered anything greater.

"It's lovely," I lied, knowing if showed him now that I was rather disturbed by all of this it would send him into a mood. "But Erik, you frightened me just a moment ago. Why did you leave me alone?"

"Oh, you are always safe with Erik," he replied, already pouring the wine before anything else. "He would never let you be hurt. He loves you more than anything, and if you were hurt he would do nothing but weep for days!"

I nodded with wide eyes. He had done that once... well, nearly, when I stubbed my toe. I had had to pretend to be alright to get him to cease insisting I sit and put cold water on it. He had a flair for the dramatic, Erik.

"What would you like?" He asked me.

"A little bit of everything, please."

And the 'picnic' went on like that, with me giving curt replies to Erik and trying to curb him back from loud and ardent professions of love. They were starting to frighten me, but what was frightening me most of all was that there seemed to be a stuffed squirrel on a branch of one of the fake trees. And another one. And another- was there a swarm of little taxidermy squirrels in these fake trees?

I was glad Raoul hadn't come on this picnic with me.

"Christine, isn't this normal?" Erik asked me.

Not really, no, this is one of your creepiest ideas ever.

"Yes, friends having picnics in the park is very common." I replied.

Although, we both knew it was couples who liked to have picnics... and families, of course.

I glanced a moment too long at one of the squirrels, a red one that seemed to have especially beady glass eyes, and when I turned back Erik was on one knee, trembling.

He had a black- of course black!- ring box open in his hand, and inside was a gold ring set with a costly looking diamond.

I put a hand to my forehead, perhaps exciting him and making him think I was faint with joy. Instead I wanted to scream until I was too hoarse to speak.

"Erik..." I said carefully, still on the verge of a faint. "I told you I shall never marry. I thought you were fine with being friends and having visits?"

He frowned, "Yes, but Erik loves you. He cannot be apart from you for whole weeks!"

"Then when will you work on your opera?"

"This week, when you return to your mother, Erik shall work day and night to complete it! He will not eat or sleep until it is finished. Then, at the end of the week, you shall return and we will plan the wedding! I die without you here, and though I do not look it, I wish to live! To love you, Christine, as your husband, as your very good, dear husband... You said you loved Erik."

"No... I mean, yes, but, oh," I struggled for words. "I enjoy visiting you. This makes me happy, and if I remain down here for the rest of my life I will be miserable. You know I will be. I love you with a fondness one would have for a friend, do you understand?"

His face darkened considerably, "Then you would leave Erik alone for weeks on end, every week?"

"No, I don't want- Erik, I have rehearsals, work, a life outside of this place! Don't you understand? To marry you I would give all of that up. I love you, but not _here_."

"We have our own park down here now, like the world above. What else do you desire? I can make a good many things-"

"I want to go home now."

He seemed on the verge of denying me this, then he looked up at me with something different in his eyes.

"Then we shall return."


	9. Chapter 9: Life and Death

"Erik!" I screamed, pounding on my door. "You have to let me go, you promised I would go home!"

"This is your home," he replied calmly, as he did when his sanity was worn down. "And if you keep hitting the door your poor little hands will break and I will have to mend them."

I let out an angry sob and fell upon my bed. He then told me that he was going shopping for a while, and that that if I behaved in his absence he would buy me chocolates. But I didn't want chocolates, I wanted to be home!

The front door to the lair opened and shut, and I was alone. The house was eerie when silent, unnatural.

But then Lemon started up a happy tune. He must have been waiting for Erik to leave, as I had done often when I wanted to sing by myself and not have him critique. It was strange hearing such a joyous noise from that poor bird, as I knew he must be miserable down here.

I spent the afternoon contemplating how to approach my new dilemma, and then I found my eyes drawn to the torture chamber.

It was very likely a hidden exit, as I had thought many times before. Could it be a last resort if Erik refused to free me? Should I investigate it?

But I couldn't until Erik returned. His bedroom, that awful thing, contained the key to it: the little bag of life and death.

He returned within a few hours, and I knew it was far too risky to attempt to take the bag in his presence. I would make more progress if I jumped in the lake as opposed to that.

He unlocked my door and came in, then glanced about himself at all the flowers, which were mostly doing poorly save a few roses. Why had he not removed them yet?

"I should replace these," he told me, setting five (yes, five) boxes of chocolates on my vanity. "Are you better now?"

"Yes," I lied, thinking fast. "And Erik, I would very much like these flowers replaced. Could you do that for me now? They're making me depressed, you see."

"No, you wish to be rid of Erik! I will tend to them tomorrow. If you wish to remove some now, I will dispose of them for you."

"Oh, but I love my garden so much! Won't you replace them?"

"Tomorrow... We should play music now. We have not played music since you arrived-"

"That's not true." I retorted. "You sang a lullaby just last night."

"But _we_ have not played music. Come, Christine, what piece would you like-?"

The electric bell rang, and I put my hands over my ears.

"Wait for me, the siren has another victim," Erik told me, this time with irritation, rushing out the front door.

But that was the window of time I needed! I darted into his bedroom, taking the bag of keys and rushing back into the Louis-Philippe room. I tried out each key on the torture chamber door, and each failed, until the last, which gave a satisfying 'click.' I turned the handle with caution, peering around the edge, and to my surprise, there was no torture chamber, nor secret exit. Instead there was an iron tree in the center of a hexagonal mirrored room.

Then I gasped in seeing a noose hanging from a branch, and I swiftly closed the door. I breathed heavily for a moment before wondering if it was a trick, and still a secret exit. Was it like my dressing room mirror?

I stepped inside after taking care to prop the door open with a chair, then I indulged my curiosity with the place. It was designed like an African forest... At least, I assumed it was. I had never seen an African forest. But besides that, it had hardly any design to it, but was evidently a contraption of sorts, perhaps electric and mechanical.

I felt around each of the mirrors and found that some were slightly damaged. To my horror, it seemed someone had slammed his shoes against the surface. I glanced over at the noose, then remembered, horrified, the tale of Buquet's death...

Erik had killed men. He truly had. It was not a lie concocted by him, not a belief by me, it was the truth! Oh, what had pushed him to become such a thing? A murderer... a murderer...

Of course I had suspected, I had even known, but I had denied it, always denied it... I had thought perhaps... Oh, I don't know what I had thought! What do I do now?

I shut the door of the torture chamber, still attempting to deny what was before my eyes. Maybe I was making too great of leaps. There was still a possibility he was innocent-

He had a _torture chamber_ in his house! How could he possibly be innocent?

And the corpse... the dead body in the water from a week ago... What if that had not been a hallucination? What if it had been _real?_

I felt nauseated, and I rested against the wall, trying to breathe calmly again. Then I remembered that I still needed to put back the keys, so I took great care to make it appear that nothing had occurred to the bag. He would not suspect.

Why did this surprise me so? I had feared he would kill me for some time, known there was something not right about the chandelier incident, but... There had been a shred of doubt, and now that was almost entirely gone.

Add that to the list of everything Erik was. Opera ghost, madman, genius, angel, teacher, composer, scholar, architect, and now... murderer. I was engaged (no matter what he said) to a murderer!

"Christine?" Erik called as he came through the front door.

I jumped with fright and rose shakily, replying with a squeak, "Yes?" Then repeated calmly, "Yes, Erik?"

"The siren has been appeased," he told me. Then after I did not reply, he asked, "Are you quite alright, Christine?"

"No, I'm not alright!" I replied. "Erik, why can I not return home today, when you promised? And why will you still not explain what happened last week with the siren? You tell me you love me and yet leave me in the dark and _lie_ to me!"

His face fell, and he averted his eyes, "Erik cannot bear to send you back. He did not mean to upset you. And the siren, she is a strange creature even Erik cannot explain. Do not ask about the siren, for you will not receive an answer! You curious women, you always want an answer, an explanation, to everything. You want to see everything for yourself and wouldn't be sated even if I did explain. You would want to see it, then touch it, then possess it in your soul! How irritating you women can be."

"Am I just my sex to you?"

He didn't seem to hear me, "But you must forgive Erik for keeping you with him. He just gets so lonely, you see."

I put a hand to my forehead, feeling nauseated again.

"Are you unwell?" He asked.

 _What do you think?_

"Yes, I'm going to read for a while if you don't mind." I told him.

"Of course, yes, rest yourself for a while. It's no good singing while ill... But take some chocolates to eat while you read."

"Erik," I sighed irritably. "My stomach hurts. I don't want chocolates right now."

I smoothed out my skirts and adjusted them before sitting. My book was waiting on the end table beside me, an ornate silver bookmark poking out of it in the middle. I dove into it, eager to forget my trials and the image of the noose hanging off that iron branch...

Erik did not come sit at my feet as he had frequented. Instead he paced around for a moment or two, deep in thought, and when I looked up to make sure nothing was wrong, he turned and went into his bedroom.

I stiffened a little, but reminded myself he would never notice. I had been careful, I had been careful...

"Christine?" He called.


	10. Chapter 10: The Torture Chamber

My heart pounded in my chest. I swallowed, and called back, "Yes?"

"Come here."

I set down my book, my hands trembling. Oh, had the floorboards always creaked like this on the way to his room? That chamber of death?

I nearly fainted upon seeing it again, then remembered my little act, and stood just outside the doorway timidly.

Erik had the little bag of life and death in his hands, and he held it out to me, accusatory. His expression was unreadable, his horrible features blank.

"Tell me, why did you touch this?" He demanded in a low voice.

I bit my lip, "I did not touch it. What do you mean? Why would you think-?"

"I take great care to keep it the same so I can know if you were indulging your insatiable curiosity." He informed me. "A key has been moved to a different side, and the bag is placed differently upon the hook, touching the wall when it is usually slightly pushed out. Now tell me, Christine, why did you touch it?"

My lip quavered. There was no fooling him.

"I was curious," I told him, hoping he would accept a childish explanation.

"That much is evident. Did you open the torture chamber?"

I shook my head, then realized he would be able to find that out too, somehow, and I nodded, averting my eyes. He stepped towards me, and I raised my arms in defense of myself.

"Why did you disobey me, Christine?" He demanded, sounding not so much angry as disappointed.

I was trembling, barely holding back my tears, "I'm sorry, Erik, I wanted to go home and I feared you would keep me here again."

"You hate me..."

"N-no, that's not what I said! Erik, I didn't say that at all. I merely miss the sun is all, and rehearsals, and maman. But I miss you when I am away as well-"

"You would run away!" He cried. "You said you would not, but you would! You thought I lied, hm? You thought that the torture chamber was a way out? Well we shall see! The only way out is death, Christine!"

"Erik!" I cried as he grabbed my wrist and dragged me to my room, the little bag of life and death in his other clenched fist. "Erik, you're scaring me!"

"Yes, Erik is very frightening," he told me. "But you must know why the torture chamber is not an escape. Oh, should you be trapped in there, Erik would die of pain!"

"My wrist," I pleaded. "Erik, my wrist hurts, please let go."

He released it, then, with a motion from his hand, the door to my room shut with a resounding bang. I ran over to it while Erik opened the torture chamber door, seeming to not even have a need for the keys after all. I desperately attempted to open the door of my room, but to no avail. Erik dragged me away from it and to the door of the torture chamber, which was now open, revealing the eccentric interior.

"Isn't it pretty?" He asked.

I nodded shakily, "Yes, very pretty."

"What would you call it?"

"A torture... chamber?"

"Yes, but what does it look like?"

"An African forest."

"How astute you are! That is precisely what I made it to be. And, you see, if I were to have someone in here, I need only shut the door and begin the torture-"

"No! No, Erik, don't-"

"Oh, Christine, dear, I would never lock you in here," he told me, patting my arm in reassurance. "But if I were to, the torture would consist of heat, mostly, making the victim delirious. Then, in that state, he would be deceived into believing he was in a veritable forest, not a room of mirrors. With no water, he would die of thirst within a few days, but I am impatient, you see, and it can take as little as an hour if I choose. Let me show you my instruments! They help with the torture. Come, come, Christine, close your eyes first, though! I can't have you knowing how to reach them."

"Erik, I will not close my eyes! You're scaring me."

He placed his cold hands over my eyes and I fought him, protesting. I felt him drag me through a doorway, and when he released me we were inside a dark room illuminated by what seemed to be electric light. He eagerly presented me with all manner of strange objects, showing me how they were 'played' to torment the victims. Each made a different sound, like that of a lion or little fly, but each sounded perfectly lifelike.

"And when they fear the lion- I always save that for last-" he told me, chuckling, "they reach for the noose!"

"I-is that all, Erik?" I asked tentatively.

"Oh, no, no, there are still more secrets. But you shall not find those! No, no, and there is no escape through the torture chamber. I can assure you, none!"

"I'm sorry for my curiosity." I tried, pitifully wringing my hands.

"Curiosity? Why should I be upset at your curiosity? You disobeyed Erik, and that is why you have now earned your extended stay here. But I love you, Christine, and so I will forgive you, and after this week, so long as you are a good girl, you may return home again."

"But Erik, my maman, she'll be missing me-"

"It is your own fault! And besides, you leave Erik alone all the time, and when do you worry about him missing you? No, you shall remain here, then return, unless you continue messing with Erik's secrets!"

"Erik-"

"You must be very excited at the moment, my little Christine, so now we will devote ourselves to music," he told me, pulling me along and opening the door to my room.

I was somewhat hysterical as he brought me into the drawing room. He placed me by the piano like a doll while I put my head in my hands, trying desperately to regain my breath and not let any tears fall. Somehow he seemed to not notice my state, or perhaps he was just ignoring it. Nothing upset him more than when I was crying.

"Here is your music," he told me, wrapping my hands about a sheet of music. "I will give you a moment to prepare."

Breathe in, breathe out...


	11. Chapter 11: Lilac and Lemon

Upon waking the next day, I found that Erik had somehow managed to replace my "garden." What had once been a menagerie of different flowers and fragrances was now a forest of lilacs. They were fixed to the walls, and on my nightstand, dresser, vanity, and even around my bathroom.

I moaned and turned over in bed. I had a week now to be with him, a week! Poor maman, she would be worried sick about me...

I remained in bed all morning, falling in and out of sleep. The scent of the lilacs made my head start to ache, which forced me to realize I ought to get up and venture outside my room.

But I couldn't fathom going and talking to Erik again. Last night had been horrible, pretending like I did not now know that he was a murderer. It also should have changed my view of him more, but... really it only increased my pity. He had been forced to become that because that's what people expected, what _I_ expected.

Well, my expectation was a reality now and I had to find a way to deal with it, on top of everything else.

And now, though it had been pushed from my mind due to the torture chamber incident, I had to additionally keep myself from becoming engaged to him. He seemed to be becoming very determined about it now, and it made sense. What wouldn't appeal to him about having me with him all the time, as his?

The thought terrified me to no end, and even my morning bath could not relax away my anxiety. What if the reason he had let the matter go so quickly was because he had formed a plan to convince me? And what would he use for such a purpose?

Just let me go home...

Upon leaving my room I found that Erik had gone out shopping yet again, so I went over to Lemon, relieved to be rid of him for a while.

"Hello, Lemon," I cooed, sprinkling some seed into my palm. "Will you keep me company?"

He chirped in reply and hopped onto my finger. The weight of him was surprising, and he actually made me have to adjust to two fingers.

"Do you hate it down here, too?" I asked as he tickled the palm of my hand with his beak.

I stroked his yellow underbelly for a moment. It was surprisingly soothing to do so, and it helped my state of mind immensely... although I _was_ talking to a bird. Perhaps I was going insane, too.

"Do you think I could train you to say something?" I asked him, filling up my hand with more seed. "Maybe, 'I love you?' It would certainly cheer Erik up to hear that more often."

Lemon simply chirped in reply, then he spread out his wings and dove off me. Erik had clipped them, though, and as the bird was fat, he floated none to gracefully to the ground, chirping indignantly.

"It's your own fault you're so big," I told him. "Well, or not. Does Erik feed you a lot? It's strange that he neglects to feed me breakfast and yet you're practically spherical."

He strutted around, starting to squawk. I bent down to pick him up, and in gratitude he nipped the tip of my finger.

"What was that for? I'm not Erik. Come here, little dear, I'm not going to hurt you. I'll give you more seed if you like."

He puffed up into a yellow ball, but accepted my finger and perched himself on it again. I stroked, fed, and talked to him for a long while until Erik returned, and really, he was much nicer company.

"How was your morning, Christine?" Erik asked, setting a few parcels onto the dining room table.

I put Lemon away in his cage to make sure he was safe.

"It was fine," I lied. Be a good girl, Christine, he told you you could go home in a week, don't mess this up more.

"Have you thought at all about my proposal?" He asked calmly.

I blanched. I was supposed to be thinking about it? When did he say that?

"Yes," I replied simply.

"And what have you thought of?"

"How difficult it would be to love when in a tomb."

"Do you see this as a tomb?" He said, hurt. "I made your room into a lovely garden for you, my Christine, why is it still a tomb?"

"Because I cannot be under the ground for eternity, Erik. I will wither away down here."

"And what do you think Erik has been doing all this time?" He retorted, starting to cry. He went down by my feet, pressing the fabric of my skirt to his ruined face, "With you here it is not a tomb at all."

I despised myself at that moment.

"Erik, stop crying, I... Maybe if I went home I could think more clearly on your proposal."

"But... do you still love Erik, like you said before?"

I shut my eyes, pained. In truth, after the previous day I wondered if I did have any love for him at all. He had terrified me so much... and the fact that he was a murderer, I...

"Yes, Erik." I told him, then added sternly, "As a friend."

He seemed appeased by that and kissed the hem of my skirt devotedly before rising. He then told me about what he had bought, as most of the parcels were for me.

"And these are new gloves," he said, handing me one. "And stockings, and a necklace for you to wear."

I already had so many things. Where did he intend for me to put them all?

"And one last thing," he told me happily. "It's in my room, wait here. I have been working on it when I cannot write music."

When was that ever?

He went off into his room, and I was left with all the parcels. I set them back down on the table with a sigh, wishing this day would be over, and the next, and so forth.

He returned with a white box trimmed in silver, and atop it was a painted-on lilac. What was with his affixation on those flowers?

"Open it," he said, holding his hands together in a childish manner after I had taken it from him.

Trepidatious, I gently pulled up the lid, and inside I found a white mechanical bird, which parted his beak to sing once the box was open. It did not chirp, but played a sweet little music-box tune that I had never heard before. It was surprisingly charming for something Erik had made, and I was quite enthralled with it for a moment.

"You made this?" I asked.

"So that you may have music when Erik is away."

I can sing very well, you know.

"Thank you," I replied.

"Go put your things away and we will play music for a time."

I did as he requested, wondering whether the lilacs were symbolic of something. All I had ever seen of that nature were women in mourning who pinned sprigs of lilac onto their black dresses. Surely Erik was not trying to remind me of that, was he?

If only he were more coherent this would be far easier.


	12. Chapter 12: My Kingdom for a Kiss

A few days passed without any significant events, fortunately, but another problem had been loaded onto my shoulders. Lemon.

Erik was beginning to detest that bird. Every morning the first thing I did was poke my finger through the bars of that gilded birdcage and bid my little companion good morning. I frequently had him out on my shoulder while I read or conversed with Erik, and even when we played music. I was becoming quite attached to him, and perhaps Lemon was the only reason that I was happy at all.

But, of course, Erik, in true Erik fashion, was starting to become jealous of that fat little canary.

"And how are we this morning?" I asked happily on the fourth day of my 'extended stay.'

Lemon chirped in reply, and Erik came over to me from the dining room.

"Breakfast is ready," he told me, glancing at the bird with distaste.

"One moment, Erik, I haven't fed him yet-"

"After you eat you can feed it." He replied irritably. "I doubt that thing even needs to be fed anymore."

"Okay, fine. After breakfast."

Erik had also become more sane in his love of me, too. He was bringing in reasonable amounts of bouquets now, and of course, only single boxes of chocolate at a time, which I rarely ever ate. However, what disturbed me was how he now very rarely called me simply 'Christine.' Well, he had never been one to before, but now days had passed where I never heard my name in and of itself. It was always 'my Christine' or 'my little Christine' or a variant of that.

I used to be just Christine. Now I didn't know who I was.

After finishing breakfast, I went to read my book. I took Lemon out to sit on my shoulder while I did so, and the glare that Erik gave that bird should have set his yellow feathers aflame.

However, Erik sat at my feet as usual, resting his head on my knee and glancing up at me every once in a while, pleading for attention of some kind. I was so nervous about Lemon's safety that I actually gave him my entire hand to hold. He was delighted with it, like I had given him a precious toy. I feared he would caress it or something of that manner, but he simply held it, and when I turned pages he would release it and hope for me to give it back, which I did.

And then Lemon started to chirp. It wasn't his usual melody either, oh no, it was his prideful little song he sang whenever he felt superior. He would puff up into a fluffy yellow ball and start chirping constantly, and that was exactly what he did now.

"Shall I put it away for you?" Erik asked hopefully.

"No thank you." I told him. "He's fine. I don't mind it."

"I mind it."

I shut my eyes for a moment, "Fine, I will put him back, then."

I stood up, shut my book rather loudly, and placed Lemon back inside his cage. His chirping stopped, and he deflated back to his usual lemon shape.

"Are you satisfied, Erik?" I asked.

It had come out a little more coldly than I had intended.

"Yes, come read some more," he replied happily.

I sat back down, and he took his place at my feet and my hand in his again. This time he did sort of knead the top of it with his thumb in a very reverent manner. Surprisingly enough, I didn't mind it so much at all, and it went on for an hour, since I was so engrossed in my book.

Then I felt his cold lips brush against the surface.

I leapt up in shock and he stared up at me with the most apologetic, pitiful expression he had ever worn. I immediately forgot my anger at him not asking permission, but I clutched my hand to my chest, my breathing still rapid.

I thought he would start to cry, but instead he fled the room, slamming the door of his bedroom behind him. I was left bewildered, still clutching my hand as if it had been burned.

The feeling had not been at all like Raoul's lips. His had been soft and warm, while Erik's were thin and cold. And Raoul had done it like a gentleman, whereas Erik had stolen the kiss for fear I would say no. And the horrible thing is that I _would_ have said no.

I rubbed the back of my hand for a moment, thinking about what to do. Should I reprimand him for stealing such a tiny, almost insignificant thing? Should I try to console him and tell him it was alright, and have to likely accept his kiss again? Or should I use this moment to try and make a deal for my freedom?

I went over to his bedroom door, tentative, but decided. Yes, there was one choice I could be proud of making, and only one.


	13. Chapter 13: Lyrics

"Erik?" I called softly, my voice quavering.

I stood behind his door, starting to have second thoughts. Why should I do this? He had murdered people!

But... he didn't want to, did he? He wanted love and... and maybe like before, maybe if I loved him he would change. I know that didn't happen before, but maybe it _could_ happen... I just had to hope.

The door opened to me, slowly. He was masked, and his jacket had dark spots under his jaw from his tears.

"Why are you masked, Erik?" I asked, confused.

"Because I do not deserve to have it off now." He replied sadly, averting his eyes in shame.

"I forgive you, Erik. Here, would you like to try again?"

He stared at me, his eyes soft behind the mask.

"Ask this time, and I promise to let you."

"C-could I kiss... your hand... my Christine?"

His eyes widened as I extended my trembling hand out to him. His hands trembled as well as they clasped it, and my hand disappeared under the silk part of his mask for a moment. His kiss was softer this time, and he seemed in a large amount of shock at my willingness.

He returned my hand to me and then promptly shattered, falling to my feet and weeping.

"Oh, there, there, Erik," I said, wincing a little. "You don't need to-"

Don't need to what? This was the first time anyone had ever accepted a kiss from him! This reaction was perfectly justified, and I filled with pride at it. I had stood my ground and let him kiss me.

Maybe now he would let me go!

Or... or _not._ What if I had ruined everything?

He buried his face in my skirt, kissing the hem and muttering incoherently about how wonderful I was.

Well, even if it had... it may have just been worth it.

When he finished sobbing, I asked him to remove his mask, and that made him continue crying for quite a while longer. Then when he finished again, he finally rose, and I held his hands, hopeful.

"Was that nice, Erik?" I asked kindly.

"Erik has never... k-kissed a woman before... not even a hand, though it may seem such a small thing to you, no one has ever let Erik do such a thing... His lips are so cold, and no one wants to be kissed by death..."

"You are not death, Erik. You are a man. And you may kiss my hand whenever you like now, so long as you ask."

"Christine, I love you... I love you..."

Should I ask now?

"Um, Erik..." I said cautiously. "May I go home for tomorrow? Just for a day?"

He looked up from my hands, "Home?... Do you miss home so very much?"

I nodded.

"But you cannot leave yet." He continued. "I said after a week, when you were engaged to me, that you could leave. If I let you go now Erik would break his promise."

You never had much trouble with that _before_.

"But... I can't be your fiancée, Erik, I-"

"Then you may not leave." He said simply. "Oh, forgive Erik! He cannot let you leave without being sure that you will return to him again. He loves you more than anything, and he cannot bear being parted from you now, not after you have let him kiss you!"

I felt my lower lip start to quiver, and I ran off into my room to sob. Why couldn't there be a way to both please him _and_ be free?

I assumed since Erik did not come in that he was either crying as well or had realized I would not want his comfort.

I opened the little music box he had given me, sniffling, and I had a sudden idea. My face still plastered in tears, I took out some paper, a pen, and a small jar of ink. I would make lyrics for his composition, a duet for me and the little white bird.

When Erik finally knocked on my door, he found me on the floor with the music box, singing along with the melody:

"J'ai un ami qui m'adore,

Et je l'aime aussi.

Mais quand ma vie est noire,

La sienne est en or.

Et je l'adore,

Mais je me meurs

Quand il sourit.

Joyeux, heureux,

Malheureuse,

O, je me meurs

Quand il sourit."

(I have a friend who adores me.

And I love him as well.

But when my life is dark,

His life is gold.

I love him,

But I die

When he smiles.

Joyful, happy,

Unhappy*

Oh, I die

When he smiles.)

I looked over at him, and he tilted his head at me.

"Are you better now, my little Christine?" He asked. "Would you sing that again for your poor Erik?"

I nodded gently, shutting my eyes and doing so. The lyrics were on a piece of paper in the music box, jotted down in pretty handwriting. Now this melody was part of both of us.

I opened my eyes as I finished, and he came over to me timidly.

"Do you hate my smile so much?" He asked, hurt.

I laughed, pained, "No, no, that's not what it means. I wanted to put 'when he is happy' but that didn't work as well."

"Would you explain it to me?"

"I think you would know what it means."

"Yes, but I want you to explain it with your pretty soft words. They are far better to listen to than the thoughts inside my head."

I looked up at him in pity, "Okay, Erik."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 ***In French, these adjectives can describe people, so it's sort of saying joyful MAN, and then unhappy WOMAN**

 **If anyone reads this and wishes to correct my French, please do. I can't stand mistakes.**

 **Also, this chapter was fluffy, but just a reminder that this story will not have Christine falling head over heels for Erik. He's too damaged for that, sorry. But she will give her best try, the precious cinnamon roll :) It should be a little while before dark unhappy times come back, but they will, don't worry.**


	14. Chapter 14: The Key

One day left.

I woke up to the normal sight of a note by my nightstand, this time accompanied by a sprig of lilac. He was out shopping again.

I took longer to get ready that morning since he had just bought me new bath soap and I was determined to enjoy what little I had down there. When this was finished, though, and I was dressed and ready, I realized something seemed off. The house quiet. Too quiet for a typical morning, even without Erik...

Suddenly realizing that Lemon was not cooing as he always did in the morning, I ran out to check on him, terrified. The drawing room appeared perfectly normal at first, but the corner was empty. The cage was gone, and so was its occupant.

"Why must you take everything away that makes me happy?" I cried, even though Erik could not hear me.

My chest was so full of heat, and my eyes so full of tears, that I was tempted to destroy something of his in childish retaliation. He had so many fragile things, like that ugly old ostrich egg in the Louis-Philippe room.

But it was a thought I would never act upon. Why hurt Erik for no reason? What good would it do?

When he came back, though, I was spitting mad and immediately confronted him. He just stared at me blankly the entire time.

"Why did you take him away?" I demanded.

"Who?" He replied simply, ignoring me as he set down a bag of groceries.

"Lemon, Erik, the canary!"

"What canary?"

I blinked, "What do you mean? The one that you bought for me! The one that's been in the drawing room for almost two weeks now!"

"Erik hallucinates sometimes, too." He replied simply, chuckling. "There was never a canary in this house."

I crossed my arms in exasperation, "What have you done with him?"

"Perhaps you ought to take a nap, my dear... or perhaps this was a dream you had?"

"But Erik, he's real, you bought him for me the last time I visited... Don't you remember?"

"No... Maybe if you have some breakfast you can come to your senses."

My senses? Come to _my_ senses?

"Did you kill it?" I asked.

He laughed again, "Why do you keep going on about this made up canary? We have no need for a canary down here; you sing more beautifully than any songbird... Now, I want to have another picnic today."

I crossed my arms again, more resolutely, "I won't go anywhere until you explain where you put Lemon."

"In the kitchen, my Christine, with the other fruits."

I glared at him, "That was the _canary's_ name. Lemon."

"Oh, why would you name it that?" He asked, as if he was listening to a child's made-up story.

"Because-it-looked-like-a-lemon-and-you-know-that!"

He laughed again, "Did it really? Well, what a wonderful imagination you have! Come, tell me what we should pack for the picnic."

"I just said; I'm not coming until you tell me where Lemon is."

"In your pretty little mind. Now tell me what you would like."

I stormed away to my room. If he would not answer me then I did not have to answer him.

It was exceptionally easy to behave like a child when one was treated like one. But what was _with_ him? Why did he seem to not remember Lemon? Or was he just trying to fool me, like the hallucination with the siren?

Upon slamming the door, my eyes started to well up with tears. Had he killed my pet? And why had he, when he knew I got such joy out of caring for it?

I had my head buried in my lap while I cried, and I didn't notice Erik open the door. As I looked up for a moment, I screamed in seeing him, then clapped both hands over my mouth.

He shielded his face with his hands and fled. Oh, no, no, what had I done now? What trouble has your poor face gotten you into this time, Erik?

"Erik," I called, still wiping away my tears as I pursued him into the drawing room. "Erik, you just surprised me was all. I wasn't scared, I just..."

He was in a heap in his armchair, sobbing wretchedly. He wouldn't even look up at me as I spoke.

"Erik, I'm truly very sorry," I told him kindly, going on my knees like he did with me. "I didn't mean to scream. You don't frighten me anymore."

He noticed where I was and he tensed, telling me through tears, "G-get up from there, stand up, you should never sit at Erik's feet."

I obeyed only because of how distressed he was. But, really, he was being melodramatic about the whole thing. He knew I had just been surprised... didn't he? Well, I had truly been scared, but I couldn't let him know that.

"That is why you do not want to marry Erik," he sobbed. "Because he is so ugly... and you fear Erik... and you also hate him because he cannot remember about the bird you seem so fond of."

"It is not because you are ugly that I don't want to marry you, Erik," I told him. "Remember what I said my first day?"

"What?"

I was like a mother with her child.

"I said that you were the most unhappy and sublime of men," I told him, the memory horribly vivid, "and that if I ever trembled before you it would be because I was thinking of the splendor of your genius... Remember that?"

He nodded, "Then you do not hate Erik?"

"No. But the reason I do not want to marry you is simply because I do not want to marry _anyone_."

"It's so lonely to be unmarried..." he said sorrowfully.

"Not if you have friends. And you have me, Erik."

"Yes... Yes, but how can I know you will return and not leave Erik without his one friend?"

"Do you forget the ring you gave me? The first one, to keep me returning to you?"

I showed it to him to remind him, and something cleared in his eyes as he looked up at me.

"And will you keep returning, if you have it?" He asked. "Will you continue to?"

"Of course! You're my friend, Erik, my dear friend... Would you like my hand to kiss?"

"It will be a farewell kiss..." he said softly. "For you will be returning home today."

I blinked, not believing what I had just heard.

"What did you say, Erik?" I asked.

"Bring your music box with you so that you can have Erik's music when you leave," he said, his tone weary. "And return Friday night. Allow me to get the key to the Rue Scribe gate, one moment."

What on earth had changed his mind to free me? And how free was I?

Had... had I actually saved him?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Yay, she's free! For now, at least. And what does that mean? The Persian is coming soon! Hopefully in perfect, Leroux-accurate fashion**

 **And thank you for the reviews! Oh my goodness, the feedback is so positive so far! Can I address one? Is that a thing? Anyway, yes, I did write that song from chapter 13 originally :) I almost didn't put it in 'cause I thought it'd be too cheesy, but I'm glad people seem to like it, so I'm definitely not taking it out.**


	15. Chapter 15: The Persian

The gate shut behind me. Erik had shown me how to reach the Rue Scribe, and where to go and what to do, and then left me. I was free again.

As I turned the corner, however, I nearly ran into a strange man wearing an astrakhan cap. After apologizing, I started along my way to maman's, but then I hesitated.

Wasn't that the man who was said to roam the opera house often? The eccentric Persian? And had he been the man who had been conversing with Erik before? The man with the accent?

"Wait, monsieur," I called.

He turned to me. He had curious emerald eyes, which examined mine thoroughly.

"Are you Christine Daaé?" He asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Mademoiselle," he said, seeming relieved, "would you explain to me what Erik is doing at this moment? And are you in any danger?"

He knew about Erik! Oh, I wasn't alone with my secrets anymore!

"Oh, monsieur, you know Erik?" I asked, quite overwhelmed.

"Yes... Would you mind coming to my flat to speak with me? This is not the best place to meet."

Normally, no. A single young woman calling on a strange Persian man whom she had never met before?

"Of course, monsieur." I replied. "Oh, you don't know what a relief it is to find someone to speak to about Erik."

"He is a friend of mine," he replied. "In a way... Let me get a carriage."

I went with him to his flat, which was decorated with a strange combination of Persian rugs and furnishings, while also containing French furniture. He had a servant, Darius, who brought us both tea. And I sat in a lovely armchair, feeling surprisingly safe in my new surroundings, safer than I had felt in a long while.

"Tell me, mademoiselle, from the beginning, of how you met Erik." He asked kindly. "If you please."

I set down my tea, "I would be only too glad to."

It was such a relief to get it all off my chest, every word, every detail. I did not hesitate to entrust him with everything, even though perhaps I should have made sure he was honest. But I felt rather fearless now, and what was a little risk, and such a minuscule risk at that?

He did not interrupt me as I told my tale, although I did leave out the part about Raoul. That was too personal. Everything with Erik, however, down to little Lemon, I told him about.

"And he wouldn't admit he even knew about the bird!" I declared. "Has he done that before?"

"A couple times... And how did he free you?"

"Well, I was distraught about the canary, so I went into my room and slammed the door. Then I cried for some time, and I must have been doing it rather loudly, for when Erik came in I didn't notice, and upon seeing his face so suddenly, I screamed. He fled the room, horrified with himself, and, well, after I reminded him of my love, he agreed to free me. Although, he makes me wear this ring... But he also gave me the key to the Rue Scribe gate, so now I can come visit of my own will. I think he hopes I will come more often, and perhaps I ought to, or else he may take me back again."

"And he has asked you to marry him three times now?" He asked.

"Only twice, really. But why, if he is so intent upon it, would he let me go now?"

"He is extremely gifted at manipulating. I assume he has some form of plan worked out... Mademoiselle, do you wish to escape from this?"

I blinked. Escape? What on earth did he mean?

"I don't quite understand, monsieur," I told him.

"If there was a way to free you from him, would you take it?"

"No..." I said softly, but resolutely. "Absolutely not."

He leaned back in his chair, "You have told me of all these horrible events and yet you do not wish to leave?"

"Well, no, that's not... I mean, if I could leave, I suppose I would, but I can't. Erik needs me."

"Mademoiselle, you should understand that if you do not try to leave now, and leave permanently, he will find a way to force you into marriage? Erik is more intelligent than you may even know, despite his madness. I cannot force you to leave him, but if you do not want to spend the rest of your life with him then you must leave now*."

I bit my lip, averting my eyes. I then began the old habit of spinning my ring.

"But to leave him _alone._ " I said, pained. "How could I do such a thing? I'm all that he has."

"He does not own your life, child. It's your decision."

"But it's not so simple." I argued. "If I live, he dies, and if I die, he lives. That is the truth of it, isn't it?"

He sighed, "Maybe I should tell you what I have gathered about Erik's past, and what I know of the monster.

"He was born near Rouen."

"And where is that?" I asked.

"Northwest of Paris, but not to the coast. His mother lost her husband, a mason, just before his birth. When he was born, his mother despised him, and locked him away frequently. I heard him once say she beat him, in addition. It was a cruel upbringing, no doubt, and it certainly led to his mannerisms now.

"He somehow, either by being brought there or running away, ended up in a gypsy camp as the Mort Vivant. I believe he learned his magic trades there. Then he became an architect, but he has never told me much about that. He also went to India and learned a trick called the Punjab Lasso, which is... well, I assume you can guess.

"What I know mostly is what I saw of him. I will not go into great detail, for what occurred in the Persian court with Erik is not a topic to discuss with any young woman, or indeed anyone. But he became famous for his architecture, and the torture chamber, which you mentioned. He built that to... amuse the sultana. But what brought him most of his fame was a great palace he built for the Shah."

"And who were you?" I asked.

"A daroga, a police-chief in your tongue. But continuing on, the Shah wanted a palace built unlike any other, where people could have a conversation that would have no chance of being overheard, and other rooms where that was the very intent. It was designed so magnificently that he feared Erik would build another like it for another ruler, and he ordered Erik's eyes to be put out."

I raised a hand to my mouth.

"And then he changed his mind and ordered Erik to be killed. I helped him fake his death, and then he traveled around all of Asia and much of Europe before settling here in the opera house. I have been keeping an eye on him, and of late, I have also been keeping an eye on you."

"Thank you so much, monsieur... May I ask something else?"

"Anything."

"What is the siren?"

"Ah, that. I suppose you heard that when I tried to cross the lake?"

"And another time before that," I added.

"Another time?" He said, alarmed. "Do you know why?"

"I thought I already mentioned that. I don't really know, but I did see something. Erik was raving mad that night about the siren, and he told me to look out upon the lake and see a hallucination. I saw a body floating in the water, but it was dark upon the lake, and perhaps I do not know what I saw."

"There was a stagehand," he sighed, putting a hand on his forehead, "that went missing a few weeks ago."

I blanched, "So I really did see...? Oh, I didn't think Erik would... But you haven't even told me what the siren is yet."

"It's Erik. He uses a trick from the Tonkin pirates. He waits under the water with a reed and hums to enchant whoever has either fallen into the lake or, like me, tried to cross it. Then he drowns them."

I started trembling, "I don't think I want to go back there now... not at all..."

"You should go home. I have kept you far later than I should have, and I apologize-"

"No, no, it's fine. Now I know."

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle."

"Bonsoir, goodbye, monsieur." I replied, walking over to the door, which was opened by the Persian's servant.

I went back home feeling enlightened, at at the same time terrified, and yet conflicted, too.

Maman was delighted to see me, but she also demanded an explanation.

"You have been gone almost a week!" She said. "How do you think my frail heart can carry such a weight?"

"I'm sorry, maman, the angel wanted me to stay and I couldn't deny him."

"I'm not sure there is an angel, Christine. When the Vicomte came-"

"Oh, maman, please don't bring him up," I pleaded. "I know what he said, but you have to believe me."

"He said he could hear the angel too, but I thought only students could hear it."

"He heard nothing!... Maman, I am tired. I haven't had dinner yet, have you?"

"Not yet, dear." She sighed. "I suppose I must believe you. If you think you are safe, then what reason have I to worry?"

Every reason whatsoever, maman. I would have screamed aloud if that was acceptable, but for now I was screaming in my head.

"None, maman." I replied. "Thank you for trusting me. Let me go make dinner."

That night I had horrible nightmares about Erik finding Raoul and drowning him while I tried to plead for his safety. In the dream, however, I could not speak, and there was not a shred of sanity left in Erik's mind.

I was still getting over that lingering feeling that comes after such dreams as I went to rehearsals the next day. Why no one questioned my absences was beyond me, but I assumed Erik had something to do with that. He had something to do with everything in that opera house it seemed.

What _would_ happen if I ran away? To a different opera house?

And could I?


	16. Chapter 16: With Kindness

For four days, I actually lived a seemingly normal life. Rehearsals were going well, which was odd considering I had missed so much. My role was Marguerite, and although the character was dissimilar to myself, she was a main part and I could sing my heart out as her.

There was going to be a grand performance of it within a month, and I was determined to be present. In my lessons, Erik seemed to have this in his plan as well, and he even made suggestions based on stage presence.

I was delighted with how well everything was going, and to keep Erik content, I told him that I wished to spend an additional day with him that weekend. Nothing could have been further from what I wanted, but as he eagerly accepted such a proposition, I knew it was for the best.

But I had one day left before then, and I made the very best of it that I could. The passion for my craft that I brought to rehearsals actually stunned the chorus girls, and as I raised my head higher to sing I could have sworn my feet lifted off the ground. The chorus stared at me the entire time, around ten blue, brown, and green eyes boring into me.

Then after that I headed to see the Persian, hoping for some advice or more information about Erik that he could have forgotten to divulge. Most of all, however, I wanted to be friends with him, and I wished to know why Erik had never mentioned him when he said he was Erik's friend. It would be nice for poor Erik to have two friends instead of just one, if the Persian wanted to carry that burden.

And of course, I didn't even know his name! He had not confided it in me yet- perhaps he thought I wouldn't be able to pronounce it properly or... something of that nature.

I knocked politely on his apartment door, pulling my cloak tighter against the lasting chill of winter. It should have been spring now, but I had seen no sign of it.

The door opened to me, and Darius welcomed me in, but informed me that the Persian (his master, as he referred to him) had left. Darius, however, was not nearly as gifted at French as his master, and I had difficulty hearing through his thick accent.

"When will he return?" I asked, disappointed.

"Soon. You may wait inside until then."

"Thank you."

I fidgeted with my ring for perhaps a half hour and drank the tea that Darius had brought me. The apartment was an immense temptation for me, though, sitting and waiting in an armchair while eying all those strange Persian curiosities around the room. But I had no intent to somehow, by some method, ruin our budding friendship, so I remained seated.

There was a knock at the door and Darius went over to it, revealing the Persian looking distinctly ruffled. His cap was somewhat askew, and his hand seemed to be shaking.

Well, I knew where he had been... But what had he seen to make him look as he now did?

"Mademoiselle," he said solemnly, "I believe I know the monster's plan."

"Is it so terrible?" I asked, biting my lip.

"He is working on his great piece."

"Yes, his Don Juan. He always does that when I am away, since I cannot bear it."

"I found a way to get into his house after watching him use it." He told me. "It was a little stone opening, and I stood in there for quite some time, listening to him. All the doors in the house were open, and the place was ringing with the haunting sounds of his music, and then suddenly, it ceased! And the monster cried out like a madman, 'It must be finished _first._ Yes, quite finished!' Now mademoiselle, I have reason to believe he means to finish his piece and then marry you."

"I expected that." I sighed. "That's what he said after he proposed to me at the picnic... But I thought he had ceased that. You are sure that is what he meant?"

"I am sure of nothing where Erik is concerned, but I advise you to plan an escape now."

"But..." I leaned back in the armchair, deep in thought. "I cannot simply leave him without a word... The opera is in two weeks, I will have to wait until then to leave him, so that it may be a proper goodbye."

"You may not _have_ two weeks."

"Well, what does Erik have? Nothing except me. I don't care if he doesn't deserve it, if he's murdered, if he's lied and deceived me. I don't care! I refuse to leave him in such a cold manner; if I leave I will leave after singing my soul to him, and then at least he will have some kindness to keep."

The Persian looked down at me, his gaze soft with sympathy as he sat in the armchair across from me. He placed his head on his fingertips, thinking hard.

"You want to risk it?" He asked.

"I _have_ to risk it."

"Then I shall do my best to assist you. Come see me should you have need of me, and tell me, are you visiting him again this week?"

"Yes. For two days."

"Two? Why two?"

"Well," I fidgeted with the ring, "I thought he would be appeased if I came more often. He just gave me the Rue Scribe key, you see, and I believe he intends for me to visit more often due to it."

"Then the best of luck to you, mademoiselle, and if you do not return by then I shall come to make sure you are alright by using the aforementioned niche."

"Thank you, monsieur... I want to ask one last thing before I go."

He nodded solemnly.

"What is your name, if I may?"

"In France, if I am called anything, I am called Ismael, but in my country I was called Nadir."

"Which do you prefer?"

"Seeing as you have had so little choice of late, I will let you choose."

"Thank you, Monsieur Nadir. Goodbye."

"Good luck."

"Wait, actually, I did have to ask something, I nearly forgot... Why does Erik not mention you as his friend? You saved his life, after all."

"Yes, well, he does not appreciate how I try to get into his house from time to time and 'meddle with his affairs.'"

"Oh, that makes sense... Goodbye, Monsieur Nadir.

"Goodbye mademoiselle."

When I returned home to maman, she was greatly distressed about my leaving her the next day.

"Oh, maman, it's only two days," I told her.

"For an old woman you must think two days seems less to me," she replied, "but they are only more. Why does your angel take you so often?"

"For lessons, maman. Always lessons. I'm Marguerite now, you know, and I need to perfect my voice."

She sighed, "And I assume you will want an early night as well?"

"It's only now dinnertime, maman... but no, I will knit with you for a while. I do miss you when I am away."

"Dear girl, I know. I am such a selfish old woman."

I could tell you tales, maman...


	17. Chapter 17: Sun

The next morning I went to the Rue Scribe gate. The sky was a pinkish hue from sunrise, and I eyed it longingly, knowing I would not see it again for the next two days.

I had to be careful not to be noticed, but then again, it was Paris. No one would notice even if I was bashing cymbals together as I walked through that gate... Well, they would probably notice that, actually.

I went out to the edge of the lake after taking care to lock the gate behind me. I then called for Erik. And again. And then I waited. I sat down at the edge, in the dark, save the lantern I had brought, which cast horrible shadows on the walls. The water also reflected the light, and though I knew there was no siren now, my imagination still fancied that creatures stirred beneath that vast inky space.

"Oh, Erik, come quickly," I said aloud, but quietly.

It was strange that I wished that now, but the darkness was causing my mind to run wild.

Then I heard the distinct sound of gentle splashing, and an orb of light approached, growing and growing until I could make out the little boat, and the lantern at its prow. Erik was unmasked, but to my surprise I found no need to clap my hand over my mouth this time. Perhaps the darkness was actually assisting, for once.

"You have returned to me," he said happily, as if he had doubted that (which, knowing Erik, he likely had). "Oh, my dear Christine, I have missed you so much. It's so lonely in the house without you."

I nodded, letting him help me inside the boat, "Did you replace my flowers again?"

"Yes."

"And is it all lilacs again?"

"Do you not like the lilacs?"

"No, I like them, but they're a little overwhelming. I prefer a variety."

"That is what I have ready for you, all ready! I even have more surprises for you."

"Oh," I said, failing to feign interest.

He started to row the boat, "A lovely surprise. Erik got bored with composing and decided to make your room more suitable for you. Now you will not want to go home at all!"

"But... but I am going home?"

"Of course, but you will not want to. Wait until you see what I have bought and made for you, because I love you and I want you to be happy down here! Very happy."

I nodded, wary as to what this meant. Perhaps he had brought Lemon back?

He rowed us back to the house, and I was hesitant to enter and see what he had done with the place. He gently prodded me inside, and I found nothing at fault with the place at all... yet. But upon entering my room I found that he had painted the ceiling to resemble the sky, the beautiful pink sky of sunrise and sunset.

How he had managed it was beyond me, since he had such poor handwriting. But he was an architect, so perhaps this came with that...?

"Now you will not miss the sky," he told me happily.

I smiled gently, still staring up at it, "Thank you, Erik."

"May I kiss your hand, my little Christine?"

"Yes, of course."

I remained staring up at the ceiling as he did so. For once it seemed he had actually been successful in his attempt to please me.

But it was not the real sky. There was no breeze to move the clouds, no blinding sunlight, and the birds (there were two) were lifeless.

"Have you had breakfast?" Erik asked me happily.

I looked over at him, "No, not yet."

He clapped his hands together, "Good, for Erik has prepared something for you."

After breakfast we spent the rest of the morning with music, and I was surprised with how wonderful everything was going. Erik seemed to realize how successful the morning was going as well, and he kept handing me piece after piece to sing, then complimenting me profusely.

"You sound perfectly lovely, too, Erik," I told him.

And there were the tears. He went to his knees and kissed the hem of my dress with his mouth full of incoherent words and his eyes flooding with happy tears.

For lunch, we had a picnic in the 'park,' even though I had requested not to, but had gone back on this when I saw his disappointment. We had champagne and strawberries this time, which ruined my mood significantly.

As we went back to the house, Erik addressed my sadness, which I had been unsuccessfully hiding.

"Why do you look like that?" He asked.

Well, that was _one_ way to phrase that question.

"I'm just a little sad all of a sudden," I replied. "But it's not your fault," I continued hastily. "Perhaps it's from being in the dark most of the morning. I'll liven up when we are back at the house."

He nodded, but I could tell he was still skeptical. Then he started to think of something.

"My Christine?" He asked.

"What?"

"Did you forget to bring your music box back?"

"I thought you wanted me to keep it at home. Maman enjoys it, and I sing with it often."

Something dark passed over his features.

"Do you sing for her often?" He inquired.

"No. I'm at rehearsals for most of the day... But of course I sing for her. Why shouldn't I? It's my voice, and I can do as I please with it."

His thin lips tightened, "You sing for Erik more, though, always, for Erik gave you your voice."

" _Trained_ my voice. You did not give it to me. That's not to say that I am not extremely grateful-"

"But before Erik your voice was without any emotion. And now you sing with all all of your soul, and Erik never has anyone sing to him except for himself, and never with such a soul as yours, so he wants to have you sing for him often. All the time, even."

"I understand, but-"

"Shh!" He interrupted suddenly, pushing me back against the wall and looking about us.

I trembled violently. My head had hit the stone wall and it ached, but I could not rub it since Erik was holding me back with his arm.

He began to speak madly, in a hushed tone, to no one in particular, "That daroga is sticking his nose into Erik's business, and he knows very well that Erik does not take kindly to noses! Yes, he should stop, and stop soon, before the siren catches him. She has been after him for some time now..."

He slowly released me, and I rubbed my head shakily. He turned to me, and in seeing me looking hurt and terrified, he begged for my apology.

"Erik has hallucinations sometimes," he informed me sadly. "Did he hurt you?"

"My head hit the wall."

His horrible features fell even further, "Oh, my poor Christine... I will tend to it when we return home... Erik never intends to hurt you, and when you are hurt he cannot bear it."

He took me back to the house and had me put cold water on the back of my head, which had a firm little lump on it now. He was greatly distressed by it, but I told him it didn't hurt so much at all. Even so, he left to go shopping (almost certainly for boxes of chocolate) and I spent the rest of the afternoon reading a new book he had bought for me in my absence.

When he returned, to my surprise, he did not have any boxes of chocolates. What he had was a birdcage, and inside was a yellow canary.

But it was not Lemon. It was much smaller, and trembling rather violently.

"You bought me a new one?" I asked, surprised that he would actually think of such a thing.

"I bought you a real one," he replied happily. "Now you do not have to imagine anymore!"

I named her Sun.


	18. Chapter 18: Ginger

I woke up in the middle of the night parched with thirst. I always had a glass of water on my nightstand, fortunately, but after I drank it I found I could not fall back asleep. Thinking I could remedy this by getting up for a moment, I did so, wrapping an emerald silk shawl about my shoulders for modesty.

I had only ventured outside my room once before at night, and I was far from eager to do so again. Still, Erik seemed to be asleep, so there was no harm in it. Nothing to be afraid of at all.

That was one of the benefits of knowing nothing could be more terrifying than Erik down here.

I took a candle with me and walked around the drawing room a few times, thinking that would cure my insomnia. Then I headed back to bed, but as I did I heard Erik's door creak open.

I turned to it, a little trepidatious, and within moments he came out. The bird, who had been asleep before, started to chirp horribly. She was throwing a right fit over something.

Erik had not noticed me yet, it seemed, and he went over to the bird and began to chastise it.

"Quiet, you, you'll wake Christine." He told her sharply. "She is having lovely dreams and you will keep her from those... Quiet!"

He hit the cage, and the bird screeched. I rushed over to Erik before anything worse could occur.

"Erik, what's wrong?" I demanded, as if I _had_ just woken up.

"Oh, forgive Erik, my Christine, he did not know he had bought such an annoying bird. Let him get a new one; go back to sleep."

Perhaps it was for the best. The bird was not coping well with its living conditions it seemed.

"But you won't kill it?" I asked, just to make sure. "You'll return her and get a new one?"

"Perhaps a different pet would be better. These canaries can be such nuisances."

"But will you kill it?"

"You ought to go to bed now," he told me. "You will be tired if you do not. Goodnight, my dear."

There was no use arguing with him if he did not even seem to hear me, so I sighed irritably and went back into my room. After tossing and turning for a while, I fancied I heard a sudden "squawk!" but perhaps I had been dreaming.

I hoped I had been dreaming...

The next day I found a note waiting on my nightstand, accompanied by a sprig of lilac like last time. He would be gone for much of the morning to get me another pet.

I put a hand to my forehead in sudden realization. If I was only returning for a few more weeks, then leaving, what would he do with the poor animal in my absence? Would he kill it in fury?

Now did I have to save whatever poor creature he had selected, along with myself?

When he did return, I expected to see him with another type of bird, but instead he was clutching a fluffy lop-eared rabbit with ginger fur. A perfectly silent pet.

"Look, my little Christine," he said delightedly. "Let me set up its hutch in the drawing room."

I nodded, relieved that it was still small enough to carry and would not annoy Erik. I was also happy for something soft to hold, and something so delightfully innocent. He would find no fault with a rabbit, none at all.

He passed her to me, and I went to sit with her on the sofa, stroking her soft ears. She was perfectly complacent and did not move a muscle save her little nose. She also had a rhythm to her; her heartbeat and breathing made her tremble ever so slightly in my arms.

Erik set up a lovely little pen for her as well as a cage, and it was oddly thoughtful of him to let her run around. I set her in it, but all she really did was sit and breathe. When she did hop, it was clumsy, like she was unused to it.

"Do you want breakfast now, Christine?" He asked.

Now, I hadn't brought up the subject of the kitchen for a while, but I knew I ought to.

"Yes, I do, but Erik," I said, thinking over my words, "can I pick out something for myself? Last night, you see, I was thirsty. What if I run out of water in the middle of the night?"

"Then you can wake me and I will get you some."

"But in the mornings, when you're out shopping, I have to wait for you to come back to have breakfast."

"You always have such early breakfasts. This is more normal, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then you are fine, and you do not need to go in the kitchen," he said with finality.

I crossed my arms, "Erik, would you at least give me a reason why I cannot go into the kitchen-?"

"Because I said no!" He cried, startling me. "And Erik always has his reasons, always! You need to respect that I love you, and I know what is best for you. No, I will not tell you why, and if you ask again then Erik will be quite upset! Do you wish to upset him?"

I shook my head.

"Good. Now I will make you breakfast, my little Christine."

I sighed and went into the drawing room to pet Ginger (again, an appropriate name) some more.

After breakfast, we actually didn't play music. He asked for me to read for a time, probably hoping that I would let him hold my hand while I did, like before. And, after a moment of consideration, I did let him. This time, however, I was not as engrossed in my book, and the sensation of his bony fingertips was becoming too much too bear. Why couldn't he have soft hands? Why did every inch of him have to be death?

"Erik," I asked, biting my lip, "I'm sorry, but I would like it if you didn't hold my hand this time."

He averted his eyes in shame, but released it. He set his head on my knee, and as I continued reading, feeling rather horrid, he started to tremble.

Was he crying? Oh, not again, if I could just go one day without him crying down here...

"Oh, Erik," I sighed. "I didn't mean anything, I just... it's hard to turn the page, because I have to keep taking my hand away and setting it back, and sometimes you don't let it go and..."

He nodded with understanding, "You do not have to lie to me. Erik's hands are not pleasant to touch."

I bit my lip, "No, Erik, I'm sorry... You can hold my hand again. That was cruel of me."

He shook his head sorrowfully, "No. Read your book in peace, my little Christine."

He then went into his room, shutting the door behind himself.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Is she even human? Can you imagine going back to live with a man you now know murders?**


	19. Chapter 19: The Siren's Secret

The next morning Erik begged me to stay, clinging to my skirts and nearly tearing them.

"Erik, I have rehearsals, I have to go," I argued, becoming frightened.

"But I'm so lonely here, all alone..."

"I'll come back next week. See? I still have the ring."

He finally let me go, with no small amount of sobbing, this time through my dressing room for rehearsals.

Just one more visit, then the performance, and I would be free. I planned to abscond with maman to an opera house further south. We had enough to manage it, and when I went to ask Monsieur Nadir about it, he offered to assist me. I would have declined, but I knew if I did not make it then he would feel guilty, so I accepted.

Everything was planned out. A brougham would be waiting outside the opera house, with maman inside, and when I finished my performance I would bid goodnight to Erik, then leave forever.

Rehearsals were going splendidly, as usual, but I found myself being gossiped about for my absences. I had not heard anyone even mention it before, and yet now there were whispers, rumors. Why had I been gone so often? Was it due to a secret admirer? Were my illnesses from a possible baby?

I tried not to care, as there were more important things to worry about, but still, the gossip hurt. My respectability was swiftly plummeting, but I would leave soon and build a new name for myself, a new life. In fact, the Persian was going to help me change my name so that Erik would not find me. We both knew he could still, and that this might not fool him, but I pretended like it was a foolproof plan to make the Persian think I was without doubts.

When the week ended, Erik was waiting for me at the Rue Scribe gate. He told me that he was nearly finished with his Don Juan Triumphant, and added that I should think about his offer of marriage.

Upon entering the house, he began going on and on about how wonderful my life would be if I married him. He had the entire happy scenario in his head, of having a wife and a house and (what he brought up most often) taking walks in the park on Sundays.

"It would be the most wonderful life," he told me. "Like any other husband and wife... Can you see it, Christine? Can't you see how wonderful it would be? We could sing all the time, too, and you would want for nothing in that house. Nothing at all! You could even keep a garden if you so desired, a real garden."

He continued on and on until my head started to spin with worry. Was he saying that this would happen, or that it could happen? Was he making me choose right now?

Then, just as I started to consider screaming to interrupt him, the electric bell rang.

 _The siren._

I threw myself in front of the door, barely daring to breathe. I was not going to let him past me. No more murders, no more!

"What are you doing, my little Christine?" He asked, smiling in his madness. "The siren needs to feed. If you do not let her then she will be irritable."

"But, um," I floundered for a moment. "What about music? I wanted to play some... music."

"Would you like to anger the siren?" He chuckled. "Come now, move aside and wait for me here, then we will play music."

There was no way but to confess.

"Erik, I know about the siren, and I won't let you," I told him, trembling.

His eyes cleared, and his voice was dark as he said, "And what do you know about the siren?"

"You... you kill people, Erik, you drown them." My voice quavered. "There is no siren."

"And how did you come up with this theory, when you know very well that Erik has never killed anyone?"

I shivered, "I saw you... last time."

"You lie! You have never seen the siren at work, except for your hallucination! And Erik does not commit murders, only the siren..." Then he cried, "You have been speaking to the daroga!"

"Who, Erik?" I replied innocently, quaking at his words.

I screamed as he pulled me from the door by my arms, then he shook me, "Why do you lie, my Christine? The Persian man! You have been speaking to him!"

I shook my head, still denying it, so he dragged me off to my room and locked the door. I beat the wood with my hands, pleading uselessly, and I huddled up into a pathetic little ball, weeping. He was murdering someone right now! And I couldn't stop it.

I felt sick, and I gave up the attempt. Erik couldn't hear me now; he was already in the lake, tormenting some helpless victim!

And I had been powerless to stop him. Oh, and what would he do with me? What would he do now that he knew I had been talking to the Persian? Would he be furious enough to hurt me?

I had a sudden, horrible idea that made me moan and put my head in my hands. The scissors, what I had secured on my very first day here, were hidden in my dresser _should I have need of them._

But I was not that desperate. Not yet. He could still free me; he could still let me go back...

The front door opened, and I heard the beads of water dripping from Erik to the floor. He seemed to be chuckling to himself as he shut the door loudly, then came down the hallway, his footsteps accompanied by the constant drip-drop of water.

"You may come out when you have agreed to marry me," he informed me, his voice bouncing up and down like a madman. "The siren was very discontented to be kept waiting, very discontented! When you accept my proposal you may be free again, for you disobeyed Erik by going to see the Persian. You have ruined Erik's trust for you, and he does not trust anyone at all now, not even himself!"

I buried my head in my hands, weeping. Oh, what could I do now?

I looked up shakily, turning my gaze toward the top right drawer of my dresser.


	20. Chapter 20: The Scissors

**NOTE: This chapter is of Christine contemplating suicide. Skipping it should not affect the story.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 _Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing..._

Nothing.

I felt empty. I felt cold. There was a darkness in my soul that no light could extinguish, a darkness that I could not be rid of.

I could not think of maman's grief if I died. I could not think of Erik's loneliness.

All I could think about was the pain. The pain of it all, of living, drawing breath, when there was no point in it. No point I could make out.

My life had been decided for me, and though I had tried to resist, Erik had always guided me back to it. The path he had sent me on. I was a puppet resisting the very strings that had once lifted me up on wings of angels, and that were now binding me to a demon.

 _Poor unhappy Erik!_

I had the scissors poised over my heart, so close they were touching my skin, which was pale and shivering. Their kiss was cold as ice, but it drew me in. Again and again I rose them to strike, but then let them fall to my side in hesitation.

But _why_ did I hesitate?

Erik... Oh, Erik, you only wanted love and look what you've done to me! This is your love! I'm mad now, mad with a desire that I now wish I had never had. A desire to live as I choose, and to die as I wish.

Was _this_ what I wished? Did I want my choice so badly that I would rather die by it than live and let someone else control me?

I would not be able to decide anything again. Erik would control me entirely, and I knew he would. And I have to witness the siren kill victim after victim and be _helpless._

Helpless...

Death or Erik, death or Erik...

Choose, Christine! Choose before he chooses for you again!

I raised the scissors up anew, my heart crying out for mercy, but my mind begging me to go on... go on...

If I married him, how did I know that he would continue being like he was? How did I know that he had been telling the truth before, of a real house and a garden? How did I know that he would not shut me up down here and play a twisted game of house with me? How did I know that the Sunday walks he craved would actually be in the sun, the real, _beautiful_ sun?

I couldn't see the sun now. Even when I closed my eyes there was only darkness, cold, unforgiving darkness...

And what _is_ life? For what reason does anyone live?

I lived to sing at first. To sing for my Papa. Then I lived for my angel. Then I tried to live for myself.

And now was I to live for Erik? To trust him with myself, as his wife, his _property_?

And what of Papa, up in heaven? What was he thinking, of his poor daughter, holding a pair of magnificent scissors in her weak and trembling hands, her heart beating wildly against the sharp tip?

I sat there. And I sat there. And I sat there until my head tore itself apart with these thoughts and I was left with a shattered remnant of my own mind.

And I finally gave in.

I counted to twenty.

One... two... three...

 _J'ai un ami qui m'adore_

 _Et je l'aime aussi._

Four... five... six...

 _Mais quand ma vie est noire_

 _La sienne est en or._

Seven... eight... nine...

 _Et je l'adore_

 _Mais je me meurs_

 _Quand il sourit._

Ten... eleven... twelve...

 _Joyeux, heureux,_

 _Malheureuse,_

Thirteen... fourteen... fifteen...

 _Ah, je me meurs_

 _Quand il sourit._

Sixteen... seventeen... eighteen...

 _Joyeux, heureux,_

 _Maheureuse,_

Nineteen...

 _Ah, je me meurs_

 _Quand il sourit!_

Twenty-.


	21. Chapter 21: The Wedding Dress

_No!_

I threw the scissors against the wall, crying out, "Erik, I'll marry you, I'll marry you! Let me out, please!... please..."

A day had passed. I had been in that room for a day without any sign of him.

His footsteps came slowly down the hallway, tiredly. I had my head buried in my hands, sobbing at the fact that I was no longer mine, nor had I truly ever been.

The door opened, and Erik came over to me timidly. He raised my head with the tip his finger.

"You will marry me?" He asked, his voice a whisper.

I nodded, "I will, I will..."

He began to cry, kissing the hem of my dress, and both my hands, unable to contain himself. He slid a diamond ring, the engagement ring, onto my finger alongside the other, and kissed it. I sat there limply, staring off into the distance, up at my painted ceiling, but not focusing on anything in particular.

"You will be the happiest of women," he told me. "Do not cry anymore, my Christine, my sweet little Christine, I will make you happy... So very, very happy..."

He helped me up, and I leaned on him, my eyes glassy. He took me into the drawing room and set me on the sofa, then took his place at my feet. In seeing my blank expression, however, he got up and grabbed Ginger, then set her in my arms.

When I did not react, he took my hand and ran it over her soft fur. I still looked somewhere past him, blinking infrequently.

He started to cry, "Have you died, my Christine? Has being engaged to Erik killed you?"

I blinked, coming out of my daze. I turned to look at him, and my eyes cleared.

"No," I replied softly. "I live yet."

I began to stroke the rabbit, returning to my senses. Erik watched me nervously, and every once in a while he would pace around, talking animatedly about his plans for the future. I simply sat there, nodding when I should, barely breathing.

That night he made me dinner, a special dinner in celebration of our engagement, with all my favorite foods, including Swedish ones. I barely ate any of it, and for most of it I simply cried, causing him to become greatly distressed.

After dinner, he had me sit on the sofa again, and he asked me what I wanted to do. He told me he would play music for me, if I wanted, and that he could also entertain me in other ways. He asked me if I wanted to hear his ventriloquism, or if I would like to see some card tricks.

"Or simply read, my Christine?" He offered finally. "Would you like to read?"

"Would you read to me?" I asked, my voice soft and weary.

"Yes, of course, if you want. Whatever you would like... Which book?"

"Something happy... anything happy."

"Yes, to cheer you up. What a wonderful idea, my dear, my darling. One moment."

He went to the bookshelf and ran his bony fingertips down multiple spines before settling on one. He came over to me, pleased with himself.

"This is a book of poems," he told me. "Happy ones about nature and the sky, like you love."

I nodded blankly, not really listening to a word he was saying. He went on like that for hours, and his voice relaxed me until I fell asleep from its spell.

I woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and found Erik fast asleep on the floor at the foot of my bed. I winced at the sight.

"Poor Erik," I whispered, standing up and going over to light a candle.

The ray of light caught the scissors, and they gleamed in it. I went over to my cruel tormentors, eying them with disgust and distaste.

But I could still have need of them.

I placed them back into my dresser, then slipped under my covers again, falling asleep instantly.

In the morning, to no surprise, Erik had left a note for me, this time accompanied by a single white rosebud.

"My dear fiancée,

I have gone out to procure gifts for you and look at wedding dresses. I will select three and you may choose between them. Some fruit is in a bowl on the table for you, if you are hungry.

Love,

Erik"

I felt faint. I went into the drawing room and amused myself by watching Ginger hop around her pen. I fed her part of an apple as a treat, then held her to myself for comfort. She licked my fingertips when the apple was gone, and I smiled pitifully, pulling her closer to myself.

"Don't let Erik take you," I told her, kissing her soft head. "I need someone else here with me."

When Erik returned, his arms were laden with parcels, and he had three slips of paper from dress magazines.

"Pick which one you would like," he told me, starting to set the parcels on the floor at my feet.

I examined them. They were far from what I would have picked out. One was in the typical fashion, modest, with a large bustle. Another was more modern, with a more fitting design, though it was equally modest. The third seemed made of pure lace, and it had a ballgown shape.

I suppose I would still get to choose some things. But how could I pick which dress to wear, when all were the same to me? They all lead to my bondage to Erik.

"The lace one," I told him, picking one at random.

"My favorite was the lace, too." He said delightedly. "I will go order it for you after lunch, but first you should open your gifts!"

"Erik... can I open them later?"

"Why not now?"

"I'm a little tired... may I take a nap before lunch, then open them?"

"I suppose you may, if you are tired, my little Christine... But are you excited to open them?"

"I'm too tired to be at the moment... but I will be later."

He nodded, and asked to kiss my hand before I went to take a nap.

I denied him.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **A reminder: Christine is a first-person narrator, so be skeptical of her. There is no reason to yet... but it might be a helpful hint for later.**

 **And also, my intent was never to make it seem like Erik would let Christine starve. Had she not succumbed he would have not let her wither away and die; he loves her too much for that. He would have brought her food and water, probably along with more raving monologues about marriage.**


	22. Chapter 22: Music

I fled to my room and shut the door, now hugging myself on my bed. Erik was sobbing quietly in the drawing room, and I put my trembling hands over my ears to block out the noise.

Why had I done that? What if I had upset him enough to drive him into another fit of madness?!

I heard his footsteps come down the hall. His tread was slow, weary, and he seemed to be almost dragging himself to my door. Then he knocked thrice on it, gently.

"Why did you deny Erik a kiss?" He asked, his voice filled with tears. "You promised that you would let Erik kiss your hand whenever he asked... And he asked you..."

I let out a quiet sob, and he opened my door cautiously, coming to stand beside me. I glanced over up him, my vision blurred by tears.

"Do you hate me?" He asked painfully.

I shook my head, sniffling, "No... no, I don't hate you..."

"But you do not love me?"

"It is difficult to love when you are a-afraid," I replied solemnly.

"Is Erik so ugly that you fear him again, even though you learned not to?"

"I do not fear your face. Erik, I could cover your face in a hundred... k-kisses without too much difficulty, but I fear you... I fear that you will keep me here... Will you promise that we will live in a normal house? That I will not be down here forever?"

"Yes, my dear Christine." He told me, reaching for my hands. "We will live in a house like any other married couple, under the sky. And the house shall have windows and proper doors, and a garden for you to tend to."

I kept my hands in my lap and stared down at them. Erik retracted his.

"What if... What if, my sweet little Christine, what if you sang as Marguerite before we were wed? Then the next day, we would be married... Would that appease you? Would that make you happy?"

Was he actually offering that?

"But... but rehearsals, Erik," I said softly. "Will you let me go to those?"

"No, but I will make it so you can perform. We will practice here... Trust Erik. He will make it so you may perform as Marguerite."

I embraced him, "Thank you, Erik, thank you so much!"

He stood there in surprise as I held onto his middle. He nearly shoved me off him, then seemed to realize he liked the sensation, but was not willing to put his arms around me.

I released him, smiling weakly, "I will sing just for you, Erik. You have made me so happy now."

He also attempted to smile, "How lovely you are when you smile, my little Christine... I love you..."

I folded my hands in my lap, "Should we play music now? May I rehearse?"

"Yes, of course, come into the drawing room."

We spent the morning with music, and I sang eagerly. I forgot myself as I sang; I became Marguerite, and I could forget everything. I forgot that it was Erik beside me, and that I was not inside the opera house, but under it.

After lunch, we continued until Erik decided we should stop and not exhaust my voice. I agreed halfheartedly, depressed again, and I played with Ginger for a while. It did little to help my mood, however, and Erik started to become concerned.

"Do you want something to do?" He asked as I stared into space.

"I'm fine," I replied softly.

"You do not look fine... Here, I can play music for you... Will that cheer you up?"

No, but it would occupy him.

"That's fine," I told him, clasping my hands under my head as I lied down on the sofa.

He sat down at the harp and swept his hand over the strings to check for intonation. Pleased with its sound, he began to play.

The harp has a soft sound to it. Most any other instrument can be harsh, but the harp was made to be lovely, always. His hands glided over the strings expertly, lulling me into a dewy daze. I relaxed as the melodies seemed to encircle me, promise me safety while I rested, safety that was an illusion.

There is music too wonderful to describe, and that was Erik's music. He poured his soul, his poor, mad, abused soul, into his music. He turned his pain and tragedy into the most mournful and haunting melodies, but at the moment his music was happy. Gentle.

Oh, at least I had music. I could not survive without music.

When I woke up, I sat up with a start. Erik was at my feet, twisting my dress hem in his hands. He looked up at me ashamedly.

"Forgive Erik, my Christine, he only wanted to be near you," he told me.

I nodded, "I understand..."

He averted his eyes for a moment, then looked up at me hopefully, "Earlier you said that you could kiss me a hundred times without too much difficulty... Why do you not kiss me, then?"

"I will kiss you when we are married. I'm saving it to make it more special for you."

His horrible features rose, "You're so thoughtful of your poor Erik..." He kissed the hem of my dress. "Will you let me play music for you again?"

"Okay... but I don't want to fall asleep this time."

"Do you want the harp, or my voice with the piano?"

"The piano, please. Let me go get Ginger, though, I want to hold her while I listen."

He seemed perfectly fine with this and went to sit down at the piano. He set a Mozart piece (his favorite) out and began to play while I stroked Ginger. She was more active, though, and tried to hop off my lap, so I set her back in her pen and went over to stand beside Erik, who was delighted at this. In fact, he was so happy at the close proximity that he paused a moment before continuing to play. Once he had finished his first piece, he began one I knew well, and that I could sing along with.

It had a rather long opening, though, and I wondered whether he even wanted me to sing along. A hopeful glance from his eyes told me he did, so I obliged.

He was never happier than when I was singing.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **The Don Juan chapter is no more, sorry. However, that scene will be redone later, I think. The next few chapters will be dark/light. Enjoy!**


	23. Chapter 23: Porcelain and Lace

The rest of the week was a blur. Most of the time was devoted to rehearsing, as my performance had to be perfect. It was my last one.

Ever.

When I was not rehearsing, I was petting Ginger and listening to Erik going on and on with promise after false promise. He would _not_ install us in a house. He would _not_ take me on walks in the park on Sundays. Everything he said was a lie, and I told myself that, over and over. He's lying, he's lying, because I knew if I hoped then I would give way to despair.

It was best to just think the worst.

The wedding dress was finished the day before the performance, and Erik handed the white box containing it to me, exuberant.

"You should make sure it fits," he said.

I nodded blankly, "I'll go try it on... Do you want me to show you, or-?"

"No, no, it's bad luck."

"What?"

"Isn't it bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?" He asked.

"Oh... I didn't think you would... Yes, I'll go see if it fits."

I took the box into my room and shut the door. The dress was wrapped in white paper, delicately folded so that as I raised it, it came out in perfect shape. It was an exquisite dress, and even though I was disgusted with it, I knew that fact. Erik had not been frugal by any means.

I almost smiled at the thought of Erik being frugal. What word could describe him less?

But I did not smile. I had not smiled for some many days now.

I began to encase myself in the lace garment, and I found the fit to be perfect to my measurements, if not a little snug. It hugged my sides in a way that almost made me blush, but otherwise it covered me entirely, down to my wrists and up my neck. I felt as if I couldn't breathe.

I had a single profile-length mirror in my room, the only one in the entire house. Even my vanity table had no mirror, but instead a white background painted with flowers.

As I turned to see my reflection, I blinked once. Twice. And the glassy eyes of a doll blinked back at me.

My skin was pale as the dress. My freckles absent. Not a pinch of color to be seen. Even my blue eyes seemed nothing but a faded gray. The bruise on my forehead seemed to have faded away entirely, though there was a yellowish-brown outline.

But my blonde hair curled gently over my shoulders. It was the only source of color, like sunshine over snow. That, however, would be pinned up and hidden by the veil during the ceremony.

Would Erik have me kiss him afterwards? Would he even take us to a proper church? What was marriage to him? What did he _expect_ of me?

I brought my fingertips to my cheeks, which felt like porcelain, and I pinched them to bring myself out of a daze and them painful color. They remained entirely white, so I pinched harder. And harder. Until at last they succumbed, and a splash of pink appeared on them.

But so pale was I that it seemed to me they were bleeding.

"How does it fit, my Christine?" Erik asked from behind the door.

"Fine," I croaked in reply. "It fits fine."

"Do you look lovely, my dear, as always?"

"Yes, Erik... I look lovely."

I began to peel the fabric off me, and bit by bit I was freed of it. I ran my hands over my arms, and I was no longer porcelain. I was soft and warm as usual.

But I could still see a doll in the mirror.

I shoved the dress into the back of my closet, then went out to Erik, clutching my forehead.

"Do you have a headache?" He asked, concerned.

"Yes, I think so," I replied softly.

He guided me onto the sofa, "Let me prepare something to help you. Some tea... And pick up your rabbit, she always comforts you. It's hard living down here for you, I know, but we will be in a real house soon."

No we _wouldn't._

I went over to Ginger's pen and stood there. Erik came over to me with my tea, which steamed in swirls above it.

"Are you not going to pick her up?" He asked, gesturing to the rabbit.

I shook my head, then looked up at him, "Would you sit with me?"

"Of course, whatever you want, my little Christine. Come sit here, let me give you your tea to help your headache."

I took a scalding sip, but pretended it didn't hurt, and really, it didn't. I could tell that my tongue was burning and yet I could not _feel_ it.

"Have you ever been touched, Erik?" I asked softly. "Like, gently?"

He stared at me blankly, "Not that I can remember, except... except when you held me that one time. That was nice, that was gentle."

"Do you think I'm soft?" I said.

"Yes. Women are supposed to be very soft."

"So you don't know whether I am or not? Have I truly never let you hold me?"

He was becoming upset; he must have thought I was mocking him.

"No, you have not... You held me once, but not... not really."

"Do you want to hold me?" I said softly. "Do you think you would be gentle enough to hold me?"

"I don't know... Erik has been told he feels cold, and you said he smells like death."

"Maybe I'm used to it now," I told him. "You may hold me while I read, if you want."

I was too tired to care what he did, to be honest.

After a moment of hesitation, he extended his arms out to me, awkwardly, and I pressed my head against his chest with a shiver. His ribcage was hard against my cheek, but his jacket softened it enough that it was bearable. His heart beat wildly next to my ear, and he wrapped a trembling hand about me.

How did I feel safe in that position?

I fell asleep there, and he did not notice the teardrops against his chest as my eyes shut. When I woke, he had not moved a muscle, and I looked up into his eyes, expecting to see delight, but all I saw was reverence and _pain._

Cautiously, I started to get up, but he pulled me more firmly against his chest, enough to restrict my breathing. My heart began to beat wildly.

"Erik," I whispered. "Erik, let me go now."

He didn't seem to hear me, so I attempted to struggle, and I whimpered, "Erik, I can't breathe!"

His arms slowly relaxed, and I slipped outside them, hugging myself and breathing hard. He still seemed to be clutching me, though, but in my place he held the air. Then his arms fell to his sides, and he looked up at me, his eyes soft, pleading for forgiveness, but mostly for me to return. For him to be able to hold me again.

But I _couldn't._

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **The story direction has been only edited thus far. The Scissors chapter will be changed slightly to make more sense, but that will not change the plot at all. Just some minor details.**

 **The Don Juan chapter may come again later, we'll see. And by the way, the Persian is coming back soon. But how?... I bet you can guess.**


	24. Chapter 24: The Plan

That evening after dinner, Erik had another impromptu shopping trip. I was glad to be alone for a while, and I went into my room to take a bath, even though I had already had a nice long one that morning.

Nothing really relaxed me.

As I started to run the water, I heard a _thump!_ issue from a nearby room. Confused, I shut off the water and went to investigate.

"Hello?" I called. "Erik, is that you?... Are you trying to frighten me?"

Of course not, why would he? But what on _earth_ had that noise been?

"Mademoiselle Daaé?" Came a voice from the torture chamber.

The Persian!

"Monsieur, what are you doing here?" I asked. "He'll kill you if he finds you."

How could I be so _nonchalant?_

"Why has he kept you here?" He demanded. "I've come to take you away."

"There is no need for that, monsieur. It's too late. If he finds you here with me he'll go quite mad."

"Where is he now?"

"Out shopping... Let me unlock the door, I need to get the key."

I shuffled off to Erik's room, shaking my head to try and clear my mind. Was I going insane? Was there a man inside the torture chamber at all?

I brought the bag over to it and began to unlock the door. Yes, I must have been hallucinating, but even if I was, I had ought to free my hallucination or he wouldn't stop talking.

The door swung open, and as Monsieur Nadir stepped out, I asked to verify that he was real. He was shocked at the sight of me, but extended his hand out, proving that he was not a hallucination... Or perhaps he was one I could touch? Was such a thing possible?

"Since he's gone you can swim across the lake..." I told him, "but it ought to be rather cold."

"He took the boat, then?"

"He always takes the boat."

His jade eyes softened in concern, "So what has happened? Why are you captive here."

"I'm marrying him in two days. Tomorrow night I will perform as Marguerite, then the next morning is the wedding."

"Mademoiselle, but we may yet free you!"

I blinked, "Free me? But I can't leave."

"What do you mean? Has he threatened you?"

"No... but I promised him. I promised to marry him. He has already bought the dress and... and look at my ring, monsieur, he is already having me wear it."

He gave me the pitying stare that people give to insane people, "And Erik has broken his promises to you, so what reason do you have to be true to yours? He is treating you horribly. You look ill and frail, and what has he done to your forehead?"

"It was an accident," I replied. "The door swung open."

"By his hand?"

"He did not mean to hurt me."

Why did he keep saying these things? What does he mean, run away? And how?

"Child, you are not well," he told me. "You need to come with me. I can take you to the other opera house, away from here with your mother."

I put a hand to my head, "Monsieur, I can't. I can't leave him, not after I p-promised." I started to cry. "What will he do if he finds me with maman? And with you? Oh, you must go now, monsieur, for he could have forgotten something and return!"

"Not without you. He has made you mad, child, just come with me. I'll take you to your mother and we'll find somewhere safe for you to go."

I shook my head and pulled my hand away from his grasp, hugging myself.

"I. Cannot. Go." I said firmly, then started to think. "And even if I did, I would have to take the rabbit with me, but she cannot swim. I cannot swim very well, either-"

"Does he have rope? Perhaps we can climb out the torture chamber."

"I cannot climb a rope."

"Then I shall climb it, then pull you and the rabbit up... but how to weight it...?" He thought for a moment. "What about a ladder, does he have a ladder?"

"No."

"Then... then, something else? Perhaps we could make a boat."

I started to laugh, hugging myself. Oh, we could make a boat out of the coffin!

"Why do you laugh, child?" He asked.

"Erik has a coffin," I beamed. "Perhaps that would work."

"No. It's too heavy."

My smile faded, and I began to realize that perhaps I _could_ still run away... The ring could be removed, after all, the wedding dress returned... And Erik did not own me, not yet... I could still be free...

I could still be free!

"Oh, monsieur, we must leave!" I cried suddenly, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Then you have come to your senses, child! Now, what should we do?"

"You shall swim across the lake without me, for I cannot go. And then tomorrow, after the performance, you will take me away before Erik can! And maman and I shall go south like we planned before, all like we planned before!"

"Then that shall be our plan."

My joy faded, "But... the front door is always locked... unless one of these keys-?"

He had already taken the bag to the drawing room door, and to our surprise, the door opened! He promised to spirit me away the next night, and I was filled with hope until I spun around in the drawing room, dazed.

"Oh, Ginger, I'm going home!" I declared.

She looked up at me sadly.

"Oh," I said softly. "I forgot about you."

How could I let Erik kill another pet, if he even _had_ killed the others? How could I leave her at his mercy?

"I'll find out some way, Ginger," I told her. "I promise."


	25. Chapter 25: A Lucky Rabbit

"When do I leave?" I asked.

Erik turned to me from the piano, "After lunch."

"And when is that?"

"When we have lunch, Christine."

"But how long have I to wait?" I prodded.

He pressed down a key repeatedly, in irritation, "Until _lunch_."

I crossed my arms, "Yes, but at what _time?_ "

"Lunchtime."

I huffed childishly, "But when is that?! We have lunch every day at different times. What time exactly? Noon? One o'clock? When?"

"Do not be upset with Erik." He said sadly, ceasing the key-pressing.

"That's difficult at the moment."

"Why do you want to leave so badly? You keep asking and asking when you will leave Erik to sing... like you don't love him..."

That's because I _don't._

"Oh, Erik, why would you think that?" I replied irritably, barely daring sarcasm. "I merely wish to sing and be with people. Does that mean I do not love you now?"

"Will you tell Erik you love him?"

"No. You are not being kind enough to me for that; in fact, I'm very cross at the moment."

He started to cry and went to my feet, "Don't be upset with Erik!"

"Then tell me the time!"

"Ten o'clock."

"That's the time right now!" I groaned.

"You want to leave me alone..." he whined.

"That's not what-"

"You want to sing and never see Erik again!"

"Yes!" I cried, then clapped my hands over my mouth, horrified. "No... No, I didn't mean that, I'm just... I'm just excited."

He looked up at me, his dark eye sockets softening. Then he caressed the hem of my dress.

"Too excited..." he said. "But who could replace you? I cannot keep you here... At one o'clock we shall leave here, and you will prepare yourself for tonight. Then tomorrow we shall be married!"

I nodded, relieved that he would not deny me my role in the opera, as I had secretly feared.

"And what about the house, Erik?" I prodded softly. "Have you picked out a house yet?"

He fidgeted, standing up and pacing about for a moment. Then he pleaded, "Forgive Erik, for he has not decided yet. He finished his Don Juan Triumphant and had no time for anything else... You will have to remain here after the wedding, then we will move into the house. It takes a long time to make ready a house, but I have already decided upon what style. And the furnishings will be all modern, as you prefer."

"And you promised me a garden?" I added.

"Yes, it shall have a lovely garden that you may spend hours tending to, with whatever flowers and foliage you desire..." He fidgeted again, as if ashamed. "Tomorrow, for the wedding... will you allow Erik to kiss you? The ceremony will not be like other weddings, for we will have no guests, but... will you let Erik kiss you after it?"

"On my forehead, yes. And I will kiss you as well."

He gave a cry of sheer delight, and I felt inclined to weep. What a despicable being I was! He would not receive any kisses...

He went into his room, and I curled up on the sofa, my knees to my chest, pondering everything that could possibly go wrong for the performance. After a moment, however, he returned to the drawing room with his violin on his shoulder. It was curiously made, with the pegs a light color and the body a deep red. Besides the color, the make was good, as I had noticed before on the rare occasion he played it for me.

"What type of violin is yours?" I asked kindly. "You never told me."

"I cannot say. I played instrument after instrument many years ago until I found the clearest, richest sound, and then I kept this one. It was rather expensive, but I would have paid in gold for it... Let me play for you while you wait in anticipation."

And he did play, all until lunchtime. My worries left me and my soul was filled with the sweet sound only a violin can produce. There is a certain color to each note of the violin. Indeed, one can play the same note in many different colors. By shifting up the string, the color of the note, which was, on paper, identical to the adjacent string, could be bright or dark. Erik was so skilled in his craft that he could paint colors, landscapes, in my head, more fine than a master artist. Indeed, he _was_ a master artist, in a different respect. I could hear the sound of a forest a dawn, feel the dewy air, and even breathe in the sweet scent of morning. I felt the very sun rise and set in my soul, all the while listening, breathless, as Erik's bow flowed over the violin's strings.

Had he been handsome, he would have had the entire world at his feet...

Oh, there is a music that no one has heard but Erik and I!

I was almost disappointed for lunch because of it, but I quickly remembered my hope, my joy. I would have one last triumph, one last gift to Erik, and then be free at last!

And I knew how to save Ginger, too.

"Erik?" I asked as we prepared to leave. "Could I take my rabbit up to the dressing room with me? I'm rather nervous, and you know how she comforts me."

He blinked, "Rabbits do not belong in dressing rooms."

My face fell.

"But perhaps," he said hastily, "perhaps tonight one shall be, but take care not to let her hop into the lake. The siren would devour her."

I scooped her up in my arms, and Erik helped me into the boat. We pushed off upon the inky waters, but it seemed no time at all when we reached the other side. We flew up to my dressing room, and I set Ginger on a few pillows, and there she remained, docile and lazy thing that she was.

Erik hid behind the mirror as I headed to last-minute rehearsals, giddy with excitement.

I heard a few ballet girls chattering in front of me, oblivious:

"Do you really think it's true?"

"La Sorelli won't admit it. Of course it's not true-"

"Then where has she been?"

"But of course, she's been with the Comte! And she's pregnant, too, that's why she's been gone so often."

"Poor Sorelli..."

"But how has she been allowed to perform? She has hardly been at rehearsals!"

"I heard she is only performing tonight."

"The Comte forced them to. She's his new mistress."

"But La Sorelli-"

"I don't pity La Sorelli. I pity Christine Daaé when she finds herself in a dark corner after the performance, with La Sorelli's dagger at her throat."

They turned, and upon seeing me all their eyes instantly averted and they hurried off.

I would show them all tonight. I would make them forget all those horrible rumors with a performance only Erik's teaching and my soul could inspire!


	26. Chapter 26: Angels Pure, Angels Radiant

My make-up was finished, my hair was in braids, and I was wearing my costume. I was Marguerite in form, but my soul was still my own.

Erik watched me from the mirror, and when the lady assisting me left, I hastened over to him, struck with a sudden idea. The mirror opened, and he came over to me, confused at why I was clasping my hands together, giddy.

"Erik, I know I promised to save the kiss for the wedding," I told him. "But I'm going to give it to you now, for I am too happy to wait!"

I reached up for his face, his horrible face, and pulled it to my lips. Death was in my hands, cold and repulsive, but I pressed my lips to him and let them rest there, soft and warm against him.

Then I withdrew, and Erik entwined himself about my legs, weeping quietly.

"I need to go now," I told him. "I shall see you after the performance."

He nodded, hesitating to release me.

"I shall give my soul to you tonight," I told him passionately. "And my heart as well!"

"And I shall listen with rapture, my Christine, my dear, sweet Christine."

He went behind the mirror, and when I was sure he had left to find a place to listen to the performance at, I picked up Ginger and took her into the ballet girls dressing room. I had to be stealthy about it, but as I hastily fled to the stage, I heard a chorus of delighted 'aw's, and I knew that Ginger had been saved.

Now only I was left.

But I would be my _own_ salvation.

The opera began, and I became Marguerite. My heart became hers, and I felt a sharp pang as Siebel and Faust toyed with it, and the devil mocked us with laughter. My voice was a wail as I lamented my pain, as I cried out, horrified that my love had abandoned me. But he returned, yes, for a fleeting moment I was saved.

But woe, the devil was cunning! My love was gone, leaving Marguerite, me, with a child, pining after my love in despair. And the devil continued his torment until Faust came into his kingdom.

Then came the dances, and oh, what lovely dances they were! The ballet girls moved with gentle grace, each delicate movement perfectly in tune to the chorus. The audience was enthralled, but still yet to be breathless, for their souls remained untouched.

And I was determined to touch their very spirits! I wanted to leave them haunted by the plaint of Marguerite. I wanted their very hearts to bend to my will and swell up inside them, as mine did when I sang. I would show them music, divine music, from the angels in heaven, but inspired by a demon!

Oh, how the opera hurried along, carrying my soul and playing with it, passing it mercilessly back and forth, back and forth, leaving me breathless with horror and delight for five marvelous acts. Oh, my soul, my heart be still! For the fate of Marguerite seemed mine, the woe, mine! She and I were one, and as I finished, singing of the angels:

"Angels pure, angels radiant!

Carry my soul to heaven!"

I felt them singing with me. I felt as if my voice was trying to leave my body, struggling to free itself from my mortal frame. How frail I was! How small! How could I contain my very voice?

The audience was in a state of rapture as I cast the melodies higher, and my soul with them. They could not look away, no, nor could they defend themselves in their marvelous ecstasy! I had not only their hearts, but their souls, their spirits!, captive and captivated.

The music issuing from my lips became the sun, and yet the stars and the moon as well! Darkness was in my very soul, but my lungs were full of light! My heart swelled in my chest until I couldn't breathe, as Marguerite ceased to draw breath herself.

"Angels pure, angels radiant!

Carry my soul to heaven!"

Oh, heaven had opened up to me! I would be free soon, save me angels! Take me away from this place, away from this opera house, away from Erik. Save my soul! Oh, my soul!

"Angels pure, angels radiant!

Carry my soul to heaven!"

And the chorus rose to end the opera, drawn by my voice to cry out with golden throats:

"Saved! Christ is brought to life!

Christ has just been reborn!

Peace and joy to disciples of the master!

Christ has just been reborn!

Christ has just been reborn!

Christ is brought to life!"

I was free. My soul had left me, but it was mine, and mine alone! I had not sang for Erik, nor myself, only for Heaven above and the audience in front of me. I had given the world a taste of heaven!

Bows, oh, I could feel every eye boring into me. All the gossip was forgotten, all the rumors, all the pain. The audience was at its feet, applauding, still stunned and entranced by what their eyes had seen and ears had heard. Perhaps they could not even comprehend it!

Oh, and with what haste did I flee afterward, still in costume, still in makeup.. Off I ran to the brougham, which waiting for me, as promised. It would carry me to heaven, certainly!

Maman embraced me as I entered, and I fainted in her arms, safe at last.


	27. Chapter 27: The Flight

I realized upon waking that I had made a grave error. Why had Erik trusted me? Why had he not swept me away yet? What was he planning? For he must _know._ He always knows.

"Get changed, dear," Maman said as we entered home, "and tell me if there's anything I might have forgotten to pack."

"Did you remember the music box?" I asked, undoing my bodice.

"Why would you want that?"

I ignored her and went to fetch it from my dresser as I pulled off my costume. The box was rather large, and would not easily fit in our cases, but... I needed it. I needed to remember Erik's music, for even in music box form it was lovely.

How I had loved the music...

"We ought to leave; the Persian man is waiting," Maman told me through the door of my bedroom.

I laced up my dress (a simple blue one of my own) and went out, clutching the music box in my hands, which trembled ever so slightly.

"Is that all?" Maman asked.

I nodded, "Yes, where are our suitcases?"

"Yours is over there, and mine was already loaded the carriage."

"And we won't stop at an inn today?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"Good."

But I knew nothing could fool Erik.

As we stepped into the carriage, I kept glancing around for him, and fidgeting with my fingers, which were searching for the rings, but found nothing. I had left them in my dressing room.

Oh, how cruel! He would find them and sob, despise me, yet love me... What had I _done_?"

But I couldn't go back now. I could never go back. I had made my choice to leave him, and had I stayed I would have died eventually, whether by sorrow, my own hand, or Erik's bouts of insanity. And even if I had lived, I would have been a shell of a being.

"Are you alright, dear?" Maman asked.

I turned to her. I had been staring out the window of the carriage, my hand under my chin.

"I'm fine now," I lied.

She nodded, and the carriage suddenly jolted forward, nearly sending her to the floor. The horses whinnied and stamped as we stopped. Puzzled, the Persian went outside to see, and, as I was trembling with anxiety in the carriage, I followed.

"What's the trouble?" He asked the driver, who was calming the snorting horses.

"Something scared them," the driver replied. "What, I have no clue. It's nothing; we'll be off again soon."

The Persian came over to me and helped me back into the carriage, as I was struck with fright.

"Horses are skittish," he said to console me.

I nodded, sitting down and pretending to be collected when inside I was screaming.

Why had I done this? I had broken a promise to Erik, which had doomed me as if I had locked myself in the torture chamber.

We traveled through the night, through Paris, and I was the only one who could not fall asleep in that jostling carriage. How could they shut their eyes on a night like this? As our driver guided the horses over every lopsided piece of cobblestone and sharp rock?

When we at last reached the inn the next day, I fell asleep instantly upon lying down on the creaky bed of our room. Maman and the Persian must have gone to have dinner later, for when I awoke I was alone.

This solitude was terrifying, though I knew it was childish to think such. I was in a room in an inn full of people, bordered on both sides. I was not alone at all! The solitude was in my own mind.

But I saw Erik in the shadows. I saw him outside the window, reflected in the grimy glass. I heard him start to open the bolted door. He was in my mind, a creature of my imagination now, and I could not rid myself of him by logic, for that had left me.

I hastened downstairs to flee my mind and find my companions, but the Persian and Maman were nowhere to be found. Becoming rather anxious, I asked the owner of the inn if he had seen them, and after I described the Persian's hat, he told me that they had left.

Bewildered, I returned to my room and bolted the door anew, trying to breathe slowly and think logically. They must have gone out for dinner, or some other errand... And perhaps they thought I was safe, since I was surrounded by other boarders.

The stuffy air seemed to become devoid of oxygen, so I went out in front of the inn. The sky was pink with sunset, and a few carriages rolled by, as well as a stream of people walking down the sidewalks. Every cloaked figure made me stiffen, but the air, though carrying the scent of city refuse, was far better than what had been in my room, so I remained where I was.

A black carriage stopped in front of the inn, and out stepped three well-dressed gentleman, who eyed me and caused me to avert my gaze. I was thankful, however, that they did not make any attempt to accost me, which surprised me, as my hand was clearly bare of claim. They were all dressed rather nicely for such a little inn, but then I realized that they were not headed in that direction. They must have decided a stroll along the streets would be better. The carriage had not rolled away yet, but was still stopped in front of the inn, with a dark figure inside.

One of the gentlemen, however, did suddenly approach me, causing me to stiffen.

"Are you Mademoiselle Daaé?" He asked in a rather amiable tone.

"Why do you wish to know, monsieur?" I replied, trying to exude confidence.

"There is a Persian man waiting in the carriage for you."

"Oh, thank you," I said, relieved.

Upon entering the carriage, however, I found a cloaked figure where the Persian ought to be. And this figure wore no astrakhan cap.

The carriage door shut and locked behind me, and as I turned to it, stupefied, the figure put a cloth over my nose and mouth, muffling my cries. The man had an iron grip, a familiar one, and the carriage started to roll forward as I struggled fruitlessly. The cloth had a sweet scent to it, and I felt my senses becoming numb, my muscles relaxing. My thoughts collided and faded into nothing.

As my eyelids began to fall, I stared up at Erik, whose gaze was cold and pained.

When I woke, the sky was a deep blue, still tinged with some pink along the edges. I gave a start, but Erik hushed me and informed me that he would not force me to sleep again if I was good.

I started to sob, "Erik, forgive me-"

"If you speak I will silence you," he retorted, his voice sharp but fatigued.

I buried my head in my hands, weeping. He was entirely emotionless as I did so, and all that night we were in silence. I trembled and sobbed at intervals, but he did not stir. For all I knew, I had gone perfectly mad, and he was only a cloaked statue, or worse, a hallucination.

However, I was human, and as I had human needs, I was unable to stay in that carriage for the entire journey back to the opera house. Erik told me to be entirely silent and not speak to a soul, and he forced the two rings back onto my finger before we stepped out of the carriage. After my immediate need, he bought me a cinnamon bun as one would to appease a troublesome child, but I ate it, and with it, swallowed my indignation. Then we changed carriages and continued the miserable, silent journey.

When morning came, the streets of Paris gradually became familiar. I had not slept, save my chloroform-induced faint, and as the carriage approached the opera house, Erik forced me to breathe the cloth's scent in so I would not be conscious. Then I could be managed more easily.

I woke as he was carrying me to the shore of the lake. His hands were claws against my arms, and he held me tight to his chest, enough that my breathing was restricted somewhat, heightening my state of panic.

He set me in the boat, and I crept to the prow. The lake was illuminated by nothing this time, but Erik knew the way regardless of this impediment. The darkness preyed on my lack of sleep, and perhaps my chloroformed state, for the drug seemed to have not fully worn off. The creatures of my imagination began their work anew, ruining my mind even further.

With the strength and loss of logic that comes to those in such a state of panic as I, I fought him as he dragged me into the house. I pounded on his chest with my fists, desperate to do anything to be free. He restrained my arms, at first attempting to be gentle, but giving up quickly. He pulled me to his side, his bony frame digging into mine, and dragged me into my room while I kicked and screamed like one possessed.

He pushed me inside and locked the door, leaving me in opaque darkness, filled with hysteria. I ran my hands through my hair.

No, no, _no..._


	28. Chapter 28: Mephistopheles

I felt around the room for the dresser drawer containing the scissors, but upon opening it, I found them to be missing. Distraught that my last escape plan had been foiled, I paced in front of the door, desperate for a way out of this nightmare.

Erik would never forgive me for what I had done.

Oh, what would he do? Would he lock me in the torture chamber?! How could he love me anymore after I had betrayed him with a _kiss_?

I was alone in the dark for a while, contemplating, trying not to stare too intently at the figments of my imagination that encircled me in the dark. Oh, how ravaged my mind was!

I collapsed upon the floor, shivering from unnatural cold, perhaps due to my exhaustion. And I remained there. Time trickled by like nothing.

Then I shrieked as a voice filled the room, the mighty voice of the devil himself, from the very opera I had sang in: Faust!

"The calf of gold is still standing!

One adulates his power,

One adulates his power,

From one end of the world to the other!

To celebrate the infamous idol,

Kings and the people mixed together,

To the somber sound of golden coins,

They dance a wild round

Around his pedestal

Around his pedestal

And the Devil leads the dance!"

The voice was roaring like thunder and crackling like lightning! It seemed in my very soul, burning there, turning my heart to fear.

"The calf of gold is the victor over the gods!

In its derisory glory,

In its derisory glory,

The abject monster insults heaven!

It contemplates, oh weird frenzy!

At his feet the human race,

Hurling itself about, iron in hand,

In blood and in the mire,

Where gleams the burning metal,

Where gleams the burning metal,

And the Devil leads the dance!"

"Erik?" I cried out, horrified.

 _But was it Erik?_

I fell to my knees to pray in my bewilderment, becoming unaware as to what truly was occurring. My eyes were glass and my body still as marble.

"No! You shall not pray!" The Devil cried, "Strike her with terror!

Spirits of evil, hasten here!"

"Kristina!" A demon called in the dark, from a corner.

"Who is calling me?" I replied, knowing my part well.

"Kristina!" Another called, this time beside me.

"I falter! I die!" I cried, feeling the need to sing with it, hoping if it was Erik this would help me.

"Dear God! Merciful God!

Is it already the hour of retribution?"

The devil returned, his voice thunder:

"Remember the past, when sheltering your bliss

Beneath angels' wings,

You came to worship the Lord in his own temple,

Singing his praise!

When you stammered out a chaste prayer

in a faltering voice

And carried within your heart your mother's kisses

And God, at the same time!

Hear these clamours! Hell is claiming you!

Hell is pursuing you!

Here comes eternal remorse and eternal anguish

In everlasting night!"

I hastened to reply:

"God! What voice now addresses me in the dark?

Almighty God!

What black veil has suddenly fallen over me?"

The darkness filled with hideous, _pained_ , laughter, and pounded with the demons in my head, in my soul, my flaming soul! This was surely not Erik; this was Death!

"When the day of the Lord dawns" said a chorus of hope, coming from above.

"His cross will shine in heaven

And the whole world will be shattered!"

I sang, "Alas, this pious chant is even more terrifying!"

But the devil continued, his voice shattering any dream of hope:

"No! God no longer forgives you!

The sky no longer dawns for you!

No! No!"

And the chorus replied:

"What shall I tell the Lord then?

Where shall I find a protector

When the innocent himself stands in fear!"

I cried out:

"Ah, this chant stifles and chokes me!

I am clamped in an iron band!"

The devil laughed:

"Farewell, nights of love and days of rapture!

A curse on you! Hell awaits you!"

"Lord!" I wailed.

I united with the voices:

"Lord, welcome the prayer

Of unhappy hearts.

May one spark of your light

Shine down on them!"

But then the mighty fury of the devil shattered our prayers:

"Kristina!

Be accursed!

Hell awaits you!"

I put my hands over my ears, and the torments began anew as the devil sang, sang without me, but not mocking Marguerite! Kristina! He called me Kristina and cursed me in the words of Faust, brought to life with his tongue of fire! And Erik did not know of my old Swedish name, Kristina... so this was not he!

"I think my advices are in vain

And that love carries him away,

But to make you open the door,

You have great need

Of the help of my voice.

You who are supposed to be asleep,

Don't you hear

Don't you hear

O, Kristina, my sweetheart

Don't you hear

My voice and my steps?

Thus your lover calls you

Thus your lover calls you

And your heart believes in him. Ah!

Don't open the door, my beauty,

Till the jewel is on your finger!

Kristina, whom I adore,

Why refuse

To the lover who implores you

Why refuse such a sweet kiss?

Thus your lover pleads

Thus your lover pleads

And your heart believes in him. Ah!

Don't give a kiss, my sweetheart,

Till the jewel is on your finger!"

And he cackled hideously, as the music of not Faust, but the Devil himself, thundered through the room, a great, hideous roar!

I lay on the floor, trembling and beaten. My hands were over my ears, my body quaking, destitute and powerless against the music, the very music of the abyss, which enclosed me on all sides and filled my soul with darkness.

The music was deafening, and nothing could shield me from it. It penetrated every recess of that room, every part of me, until I yearned for mercy, mercy that was nowhere to be found! I had been forsaken.

Then, suddenly, around me were red flames, and in them, demons! They danced to the noise, the hideous song that the Devil played. With every note, I fell further into despair, into madness.

Then, with a tremendous crescendo, the roar suddenly died. I looked up from my trembling ball of fear, and a ray of orange light entered, but there was no angel inside it. I screamed, for Death himself had come to take me!

"End it now, Christine, here!" He cried with _human_ desperation.

He thrust a miniature ebony casket into my trembling hands, with a bronze grasshopper inside. He even placed my hand atop this.

"Turn the grasshopper, and it shall end, for everyone!" He pleaded.

"Don't take me!" I pleaded. "Please, I don't want to die! What do you want? Oh, I shall marry Erik! If you will let me go for that, is that why all this torment? I shall marry him!"

My eyes began to clear, and I felt myself fading. Before me was not Death, but Erik, with his eyes wide with pain.

"Erik, why?" I whispered, letting the casket fall from my trembling hands. "Why?"

I fainted away.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **This chapter was only slightly edited, and as you can see, it focuses a bit more on Christine's confusion over whether she wants to die or not. At the beginning, she searches for the scissors, but at the end, she begs to be spared, for Erik (perhaps unknowingly) has frightened her into not taking her own life. Poor Christine...**


	29. Chapter 29: The Ostrich Egg

I woke to find myself on the bed in the Louis-Philippe room, surrounded by different colored lilacs, placed about me as if I had died and this was some form of wake.

My heart was beating fast, but I sat upright shakily, blinking as I took in the familiar room by candlelight. Above me was the painting of the sky, and around the room were the lilacs Erik had chosen to decorate my cell. Everything was placed as normal, just as I had left it, hoping never to lay eyes on it again.

The door opened, and I sunk back down into the bedsheets, wondering what awaited me now. Oh, what insanity had I caused? What was the meaning of the previous day?

Did he love me yet?

Erik came into the room, curiously wearing the black mask he had bought after I had burned the others. He had a tray of tea in his hands and set it on my vanity in a calm manner. Upon seeing me awake, however, he ceased his task immediately and came to my side, his expression unreadable due to the mask.

"You live?" He asked softly, in disbelief, though he had just brought in tea for two.

I replied tremulously, "I breathe."

He placed his hand on my cheek, and I recoiled in confusion, but he seemed ecstatic at my movement. He clapped his hands together in joy, then, without warning, began to sob.

"Why didn't you end it, my Christine?" He asked me sorrowfully.

"I... couldn't." I replied.

"But why? You chose to marry me when death was the only option you were given to escape... Why did you not die?"

My lip trembled, "You did that to me? You truly did that-?"

"You left me!" He cried, and when I trembled with fright, he backed away to calm me. "You left me after you had promised to return! You had promised me! Oh, Christine, I trusted you to come back, because you had kissed me..." he placed his hand on his forehead in memory. "But I did not trust you wholeheartedly, so I watched and saw and... I planned out many different options, but... But you are here now, and you have chosen Erik over death, so tomorrow we shall be married and move into our house! We will forget everything that has happened, I will forget that you ran away, and everything else..."

I shook my head mutely, "No... You did that to me."

"What?"

"Last night... you tortured me."

He stepped back in confusion, "Tortured? No, you were unharmed, and it was only to make you end our lives together, for you do not love me... But love comes after marriage, and of course, you promised now, you promised to your faith, so of course you will obey that promise this time."

"You abused my faith," I told him coldly.

"How else could we both be put out of our misery? How else? Now, my little Christine, tomorrow, we are going to be wed, but, sadly, not in a chapel as you had desired-"

"I will not be married unless in a chapel."

"You ran away! What choice have you? And if I took you to a chapel, you would scream and plead, and they would not marry us."

"I promise not to-"

"You have broken too many promises!" He retorted. "You are worse than Erik with his oaths... Do you want tea?"

"I want to go home!" I cried brokenly. "Don't you understand what you did last night to me?"

"Nothing more than you have done to me." He said sadly. "And this will soon be your home. Wherever I am will be your home."

I threw a sprig of lilac at him in anger, then slid up against the back of my bed for fear he would be upset. Instead he simply sighed, so I continued pelting him until he left the room in tired defeat.

I then proceeded to ransack the lilacs, and the antiques, especially that ugly old ostrich egg. Oh, how lovely it was to watch it shatter against the wall and fall to the ground like snow! How wonderful to tear all those horrid lilacs away from the walls and disembowel them! Everything was so delightfully fragile.

But when it was finished, as I looked at the mess of lilac fragments and shattered objects, I felt... cold. Empty.

I was my own loneliness.

When the crashing ceased, Erik peeked inside the room, and upon seeing me in the middle of the floor, surrounded by destruction, he entered cautiously. I looked up at him, my face plastered with tears, and he went to his knees beside me.

"Do you wish to turn the grasshopper now?" He asked, disappointed.

"No... and throw that thing away..." I told him. "I don't want to die."

He rose, and said sorrowfully, "Erik has tried to turn it many times, and only you have stayed his hand."

He shut the door behind himself as he left.

I piled all the mess into a corner, then decided a bath was in order. I filled the tub with bubbles and perfumes, perhaps hoping to intoxicate myself with the aromatic steam. But that did not occur; my senses had returned to me.

I dressed and pinned up my hair, and, upon staring into the mirror, found my face to be the picture of misery and melancholy. There was no brightness to my blue eyes, no color to my white cheeks, and not a ray of light in my soul.

I refused to leave my room that morning, to be obstinate, but Erik brought me food and water, and anything else he thought I might require. I did not abuse him with my words, for he had already had enough of that in his life, surely, but I refused to venture forth from that room, and I refused to let him remain with me. It was cruel punishment indeed to deny him my presence, but because he respected my demands, I eagerly accepted my solitude, which the previous day I had fled from.

However, later, propelled by necessity, I opened the door just enough to see if Erik was asleep yet. As he was not in the drawing room, I assumed the answer was yes, so I tiptoed to the bookshelf for an escape from my loneliness. As I turned, a novel clasped in my hands, there he was.

I gave a small cry, but he did not respond to it, for he was masked still. I had no idea why he was, and it angered me, so I tore it off his features and crossed my arms resolutely, averting my eyes so as to not see his horrible face.

He sighed as if I were a troublesome child, "Why have you not gone to bed?"

"What time is it?" I demanded.

"It must be nearly midnight by now... you need to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep, so I shall not."

He sighed, "I could make you if I desired... but I have no intent to force you to drink a tonic. Your fists are surprisingly strong, you see... Sleep if you like. I shall retire now... Do not destroy anything in this room, for it is difficult to keep my patience with you at the moment, and I should hate to lose it from such a thing."

"I'm not afraid of you," I lied bravely.

"That seems to now be an issue..."

I bit my lip, "Do you yet love me, Erik?"

"Forever I shall love you."

"Do you wish now that I had turned the grasshopper?" I demanded.

He thought for a moment, "No."

"What do you think I feel for you now, Erik, after being tortured by your voice last night and forced to remain here in this tomb?"

"Hate," he replied swiftly.

"No. I do not hate you."

He blinked in confusion.

"I pity you that you would be so desperate for my love, that you would hurt me to have it." I told him. "I shall never hate you... But from what you have done to me, I can never love you. But perhaps I will forgive you."

"Then it will not be so miserable with you as my wife, for you do not hate me!" He said happily.

I fled the room and slammed the door of my bedroom, sobbing angrily. He could not understand a thing! Oh, Erik, you poor unhappy man, how can you be so delighted by what I had just said? How little have you had of love that this is more bearable to you than loneliness?

I fell upon my bed to read, and before I finished the first chapter, I had fallen asleep in my exhaustion.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **There are people in this world incapable of true hatred, and my Christine is like that. It is not that she does not hate, but she sees it differently and diverts it into pity or some other emotion or explanation.**

 **Erik seems surprisingly calm and sane at the moment, as he has everything now, but has Christine at last given up, or will she continue to resist his control? And how sane is** ** _she?_**


	30. Chapter 30: Promises

"Why do you cry?" Erik asked, already wearing his black mask.

"Because I'm supposed to be happy on my wedding day, Erik." I told him sorrowfully, tugging up the bedsheets to my chin.

"How can I make you happy for the wedding?" He inquired. "What would you like?"

My freedom.

"I... I only want to be married in a chapel, like I said yesterday."

He sighed, "No, we cannot."

"But I won't resist at all! Please, if we are to be married I want to at least be in a chapel... please, Erik, would you increase my misery?"

"How can I know you will do as you say?" He said sadly. "If you can prove it, then we will be married in a chapel, as you desire. But if you cannot, the law is good enough."

"I will not prove it," I retorted hotly, crossing my arms. "And I shall not be married except in a chapel. You will have to drag me there."

"No, my dear," he pleaded gently. "You promised-"

"In a chapel, Erik, I want it to be in a chapel!"

"Give me proof you will not scream, then!"

I slid off my bed, "What proof do you want?"

"There is no way to prove it."

"Then I will not be married today."

"You promised!"

I shut my eyes and crossed my arms more resolutely. He sighed angrily.

"Fine," he said. "We will be married in a chapel. But if you break another promise, you should be wary of Erik."

He shut the door rather loudly as he left, and I hastened to dress and put combs in my hair.

When I was fully prepared, I covered my face with the lace veil so he would not see my tear-filled eyes, and so I could not see the doll's face staring back at me from my mirror.

"Are you better now?" He asked cautiously as I came into the drawing room.

I nodded, the veil rustling about my head as I did so.

"And you will not scream?"

I shook my head.

"Are you hungry at all?"

"No." I replied quietly.

"Do you want anything else?"

"Not anything you would give me."

He averted his eyes, "Then we should leave now, I suppose. Let me assist you into the boat."

After we had gotten into the carriage, I feared that Erik was not being truly honest. However, these fears were mostly alleviated by his constant need for affirmation that I would behave for the ceremony.

"You will be good?" He asked, skeptical.

I nodded, exasperated in my sorrows, "I swear, I will."

"It would be much better to have a happy bride..." he told me sadly. "But an appeased bride will do for Erik. A dead bride would do, too..."

I stiffened and blinked in confusion, but he turned to look out the window and did not notice. I also glanced out it, at all the people with their normal, predictable lives. How I wished I was one of them...

The carriage stopped in front of a small chapel, and he took me inside. It was not grand like the Madeleine or the Trinity, and it seemed completely devoid of people. However, a young priest came over to us upon our entry, and he hastily tried to conceal his bewilderment at the odd couple.

"Are you two to be wed?" He asked, as if that were not evident.

"We are, but it is rather rushed and we were not able to schedule," Erik told him.

"No trouble at all, monsieur." The man replied. "We rarely are scheduled here, as most prefer the larger chapels. But it's a wonderful place to be married. Come with me."

He took us to the front of the church and gave us vows to say, which I repeated without comprehension. Words entered my ears and left my mouth, but I could not decipher them. For all I knew I was speaking Spanish.

Then we exchanged rings, and it ended. There were no kisses, embraces... Nothing but the priest wishing us happiness and giving us a blessing.

Perhaps the blessing would protect me.

After I had signed away myself to Erik, we left the church, but the carriage went the opposite way of the opera house. Confused, I asked Erik, and he informed me that our house was ready for us, and I need not ever return to the house on the lake again.

"Are you honest?" I asked, barely daring to hope.

"Of course, my love." He replied happily.

"Does it have a garden, like you promised?"

He was delighted at my new tone, "Yes, a lovely garden. And as it is early spring we can plant as many flowers as you want. Whatever you like, my sweet Christine."

"And can I go out often?" I said, barely daring to hope. "Shopping and such?"

"Out?" He questioned, confused. "I thought wives stayed indoors or with their husbands."

"Yes, but it would make me so very happy if I could go out often."

"With your husband." He said simply.

"But... what about without, Erik?"

"Perhaps sometimes," he said, though I knew he meant never. "But we shall take walks, and carriage rides, and whatever else you desire... Do you want anything? More wedding gifts?"

"Could I have another rabbit?" I asked, as Erik had done so splendidly with Ginger.

At this he seemed irritable, "No. No rabbits. You gave the rabbit to the ballet rats, so you will get no more... What about a puppy? Or a kitten?"

"No thank you... Could I have some fish?"

"Fish?" He asked, confused. "Why would you want fish? They just float around until you feed them."

"I don't know..." I said. I had only suggested it to be difficult, really. "Maybe a kitten would be alright, actually... Could I pick it out with you?"

"Of course."

My eyes widened in surprise, "Really, Erik? I can?"

"Yes... why not? You are my wife now, I can take you where I like."

"Then I will not be shut up at the house all the time?" I asked.

"When did I ever say that? You are a wife, and the house is where you stay, but as your husband am I not allowed to take you places?"

"I don't know what I thought..." I told him, elated at my surprising amount of freedom. "Will you take me to shops tonight, if I want anything?"

"Will that please you?"

"Yes, very much."

Oh, perhaps this would be fine! If Erik allowed me out often, this would not be so unbearable at all.

Unless... he was still lying?

The carriage stopped in front of a line of white houses with identical black metal fences out front. Erik opened the door of the carriage, and I did not refuse his arm, which delighted him. He led us both into the house as the carriage rolled away, and the relief that swept over me upon opening the door of the house and seeing veritable furnishings and decoration, real doors, real windows, oh, I felt faint with it!

I started to cry, beside myself.

"Oh, my dear, do you not like it?" Erik asked as he set me on the sofa of the drawing room. "Don't cry, don't cry, what should be changed?"

I took a handkerchief he offered me, and replied, "You really got us a house... you really did..."

"Of course, is that why you cry? Are you happy, then?"

"Yes... Why did you not tell me before?"

"I had told you it was being prepared... I wanted to surprise you, my little Christine."

I laughed painfully, dabbing at my tears, "Oh, let me see my room, please... And is there really a garden?"

"Of course, I promised you one."

I rose eagerly, and Erik showed me around the house, ecstatic at my change in attitude from earlier. Oh, how normal everything was! And all furnished the modern way, like he had promised.

My bedroom was in white and pale lilac, and the bed had translucent white curtains over it. There were two windows overlooking the garden, and Erik told me I could open them if I pleased.

What had happened? I had more freedom now than I had had before, it seemed. I hardly knew what to do with myself.

"Do you want to see the garden?" Erik asked.

"Yes, please," I replied, taking his hand again.

He showed me out the back door of the study into a fenced in plot of land with a stone pathway. It was a wild garden, left to become overgrown, as was common now.

"Are you quite happy now?" Erik inquired.

I turned to him, dazed, "I think I am... It's lovely, Erik."

"Do you want to get dressed in something else now, or will you eat lunch in your dress?"

"I'll change..." I told him, but I turned back to him as I had reached the second stair, filled with a terrible idea, a memory...

"Erik," I said softly, hesitantly. "I promised you before this... Even though I do not love you, I did promise, and you have made me happy with this house and... and the garden, and promising to take me to shops later so... Do you want to kiss me now? Just once."

His expression was unreadable behind the mask, which he had not yet removed, nor had I requested him to remove.

"Do you mean to deceive me?" He asked.

I went over to him, still hesitant, for I did not love him, and the memory of his torments was still frighteningly vivid.

But I had promised, and I had to make him trust me now.

Trust is the foundation of any good marriage, after all.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Erik did something right for once! But has it made amends? Has he lied to her about all the freedom he had promised?** **How will Christine fare as his wife, independent as she longs to be?**

 **And what about Mamma Valerius and the Persian? Have we seen the last of them?**


	31. Chapter 31: Evening into Night

That evening, after dinner, Erik fulfilled his promise to me. We got into a carriage, which took us to rows of pretty shops with shiny windows displaying their products: jewelry, dresses, suits, chocolates, cakes, shoes, et cetera.

Erik helped me out, and he was wearing the fake nose that he apparently wore when he went shopping. I hated the thing, for it only remedied the great hole in his face, not the wretched state of his frame, covered in skin like yellow parchment. The mask was preferable, though I knew he did not like that so much.

As the evening went on, I was becoming skeptical of him. When had he strove only to please me, not himself? Was his happiness from mine enough?

Something felt wrong, but I desperately pushed away the thought of what that could be.

But I began to have my suspicions, and I felt increasingly nauseated with dread as we walked about the shops of Paris. Erik wanted to buy everything my gaze hit, but I told him I merely wanted to look. To appease him, however, I did accept a bottle of perfume and a few ornate combs.

By the time we had reached the pet store, my anxiety was barely contained. I started to fidget with my rings as Erik spoke to the storekeeper, then he came to my side while I stared at the mewing bundles of fur by the window.

"Which one, my dear?" he asked.

"The... um..." Why was my head spinning so? "The gray one."

He paid the storekeeper for it, and I clasped the soft thing in my hands nervously. We got into a carriage headed home, and when we entered the house I promptly broke down.

"My Christine!" Erik cried in concern as I leaned against the wall for support.

The kitten mewed on the floor at my feet.

"Are you alright?" He asked. "Are you faint?"

He reached to touch me, and I recoiled, struggling to breathe at a normal pace.

"I'm afraid," I told him, still overcome by my anxiety. "I'm so very a-afraid..."

"Of the kitten?" He demanded, confused.

"Of... of the marriage."

"What of it-? Oh," he said softly, backing away from me. "Oh, do you fear tonight, my poor Christine?"

"Y-yes," I trembled out, shaking with sobs.

"You think that Erik would...?" He said, horrified. "He only wanted... he did want to be beside you tonight, but... never, never to touch you, oh, why would you think such a thing?"

"What do you mean?" I said, my tears turning hot with anger. "What do you mean, think such a thing? Why not? Don't you understand the marriage, that I am now y-yours, and that you... you _could_ if you wanted to? Why do you act as if my fear is ludicrous?! And why have you been so kind to me, why, if not for some end?!"

"I only wanted... for you to be happy."

"And what else?" I interrogated. "Surely not just that!"

"Why do you yell at me?" He asked, pained. "Do you hate me for doing as you wanted?"

"What do _you_ want?!"

He averted his eyes, but maintained his ground, "I want... a normal wife... I want to be with my wife, at nights, like another man, but... but only _beside_ her... But you despise me now, so you would not give me such a thing. You would not let me so much as kiss your hand if I asked now, would you? And... and because of how you have behaved now, you must go to bed, and not come down until morning!"

I picked up the kitten and fled up to my bedroom, still trembling all over with fright. I shut my door and stared at it all night, wondering whether he had lied. I even thought I saw the door handle turn, heard his footsteps in the hallway, but those were only in my mind, my cruel mind.

But he had confessed that he wanted to be a _normal_ man, and just now told me that he wanted to sleep beside me... he had told me...

When I did at last fall asleep, I had a nightmare that gave wings to my fear. In it, Erik did enter my room, and when I opened my mouth to scream, nothing issued. I couldn't move, and the fears that had manifested themselves the previous night tormented me mercilessly. I had never had such a nightmare, such a real, hideous nightmare, and one I could not make myself awaken from.

That morning, I woke from it to find Erik opening the windows to let in light, and I nearly screamed at the sight of him, thinking I was still trapped in that horrible dream.

"Good morning, my love," he said happily. "Did you sleep well?... Why are you so pale?"

"I'm Swedish," I retorted. "W-why are you in my room?"

"I'm your husband now. I can be in your room if I please."

"Yes, but why?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"I set out your clothes for you," he told me, gesturing to a chair that had his favorite dress of mine, the lilac one, strewn over it.

"And what if I don't want to wear that?"

"Then you can remain in your nightgown, for that is the only dress in this room."

"Erik, the closet is full." I told him, groaning. "For goodness sakes, let me choose my own dress."

"You can wear what I set out for you or nothing."

I blushed crimson, crossing my arms. Surely he had not meant it like that?

"Fine," I said.

"Why are you so upset with me?" He demanded.

"I like to choose what to wear myself, if you can believe that."

"But you are my wife now. I can choose for you if I want."

I sighed irritably, slipping out from under the covers. Then, in curiosity, I went over to the closet, and found no dresses in there at all, as he had said!

I turned to him, hurt, "Why would you force me to do such a simple thing? Perhaps I will wear my nightgown after all."

"You cannot go outside in your nightgown." He told me simply.

"Then maybe I don't want to go outside today."

He sighed irritably, "Come now, my dear, this is ridiculous."

I went over to my window, my arms still crossed, "Then let me pick a different dress."

"There are no other dresses. All of them are still in your other bedroom under the opera house."

"There are dresses!" I cried. "Stop lying to me, there were dresses yesterday, and now you have removed them and are trying to force me to do as you want... Well, I shan't! This is just like with Lemon! You pretend that I don't know what I'm talking about, when I do! There were dresses here, and now you have taken them away to confuse me and force me into this!"

He mumbled something under his breath, then turned to leave, saying simply, "If that is how you feel, then you may remain up here until you are dressed."

He shut the door, and a "click" followed.

"Erik! I'm not a child, let me out!" I cried.

Maybe I ought to just wear the dress... What was the use of this silly argument, anyway?

 _My choice._

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Successfully addressed the big question without anything too detailed, yay! Though I did poorly with cheesiness... Apologies.**

 **I hated writing about the nightmare, btw, but it needed to be said. It's the sad truth. That is a highly important fear that seems to be too often overlooked with book Christine. In the original Leroux, it is addressed, and though I hate writing about those sorts of things, I do believe they are vital to Christine's character and show a lot about her.**

 **Hey, but at least Christine has gotten her old fire back! I bet you can already tell that this is going to be a rough marriage.**


	32. Chapter 32: Blue

**This is the extended "Chapter 32" into both 32 and 33. And I changed my mind about a rather major detail, sorry.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I started to fasten the lilac dress about myself, sighing in irritation.

But why was I so upset about something so insignificant? Why could I not simply say, "Yes, Erik" and have everything be that much easier? Why did I have to be so... so _obstinate_?

And why had I not burnt out yet? Are not spirits like candles? Why was mine still flickering when it surely should have suffocated weeks, if not months, ago, the moment that ring was on my finger?

"Are you dressed now?" Erik asked through the door.

"Yes," I sighed.

The door opened, and Erik's hideous features rose in seeing me. I made no attempt at a smile, but neither at a frown.

"Do you want breakfast, my love?" He said, reaching for my hand.

I recoiled from his touch and clutched my hands to my chest, wincing. The nightmare had been so vivid...

His face fell, and he asked sorrowfully, "Why do you reject me today? Wives aren't supposed to reject their husbands, and yet you have done so all morning."

I winced again, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm... I'm tired, I think."

"Then you should come sit downstairs, and I can play for you," he offered, then he seemed confused as he looked about the room. "Where is your kitten?"

"In the cabinet of my washstand."

"Take him with you."

"Okay..."

I pulled Blå out from where he had been sitting on a white towel, which was now coated in fur, and he gave a half-hearted hiss. I immediately drew him to my chest for fear Erik would do as he had with Lemon, but he seemed to not even notice.

I went downstairs with the both of them, silent, and sat down on the sofa that Erik gestured to.

"You never answered; do you want breakfast?" Erik asked.

I was staring down at Blå, running a hand over his blue-gray fur in a melancholy manner. Erik kneeled down by me.

"Did you hear me, my dear?" He said.

"I'm not hungry," I murmured.

He rose swiftly, "You will not let me touch you, or choose your dress, or even make you breakfast? Are you women this impossible to please?!"

"Just play music, please," I begged softly, biting my lip. "Just play music."

"Of course, my love, that always makes you happy," he said eagerly, sitting down at the nearby piano. "Which piece?"

"Whichever one you wish."

He hastened to begin, but I heard not a note. I heard not the mews of the soft kitten in my lap, nor the breeze brushing up against the windows. I heart not my own breathing, nor the birds outside praising the morn.

I heard it said that an essential part of music is the silence between notes.

But I believe music is when that silence breaks.

"Are you happy now, my Christine?" Erik asked hopefully.

I looked up at him, blinking away my daze, "Yes. It was lovely."

"You don't look happy," he said with a childish pout to his voice. "Do you want to take a walk?"

"No thank you," I sighed, averting my gaze.

"Do you want to see the garden?"

"No thank you."

"Do you want breakfast now?"

"No thank you."

"Do you want me to wear my mask?" He demanded irritably.

I blinked up at him, "I want that least of all."

He started to cry pitifully, "Are you a dead bride after all? Did Erik kill you with his kiss last night?"

"No, no, please," I winced, "don't cry-"

He buried his face in my skirts, "You hate Erik... That is why you are miserable; you hate Erik."

"No, I do not."

"But why not?!" He exclaimed, rising suddenly. "Why should you not hate him? He is hideous, isn't he? He has no nose, no softness to him, and he has to force you to remain so you may not leave him! You should hate him! And you will not sing now, will you? You would refuse to give Erik even your voice, your beautiful voice, because you hate him..."

"I don't hate you."

"Then why did you scream at him this morning? Why would you not dress in what he chose?"

I turned away from him, shutting my eyes painfully. He was silent for a moment, sniffling through the hole in his face.

"I..." he said, with sudden softness and solemnity, "remember when you said... you could kiss Erik a hundred times... with very little difficulty... And now you do not say that... Why must you keep me in this constant misery? Tell me the truth! Do you hate Erik?!"

He grabbed my face and forced me to look at him.

"No..." I whispered tremulously. "I ought to... But I do not... h-hate you."

He released me, then paced, muttering to himself, perhaps upset about having grabbed me. Then suddenly he exclaimed, "I'm going to work! You are forbidden to leave until I return!"

"Where would I go?" I whispered.

But he had already left.

I remained on the sofa for a moment, blank. Blå mewed twice before pouncing onto a puny ball of dust on the floor, then he rolled around with it, perfectly content and oblivious to my emptiness.

What do I do now?

What did other wives do when their husbands are away?

They would... tend to the house.

I looked about myself, but everything was spotless and neat already.

What else?

They would... call on friends.

But... I didn't have any friends. And Erik forbade me to leave.

They would... have children. And take care of their children.

I dissolved into tears and fled into the garden. I hid behind the overgrown foliage and wept until my eyes were sore and my tears had formed a thick paste down my cheeks.

What was I going to do with the rest of my life?

"Maman," I sniffed. "I just want maman... and papa..."

I couldn't be a normal wife. I couldn't call on friends. I couldn't clean the house or mend dresses or cook or wash or anything I wanted, because Erik would never let me! I was trapped. I was trapped...

And I couldn't have children. Erik would never allow it, of course, and even if he did, I would die before even considering conceiving a child with him. And as for adoption, how could I do such a thing to a child? Bring the poor thing here? How could I protect him or her from Erik's jealousy and fits and give my child any sort of life?

After sitting in my hiding place for some time, I went back inside, considering simply falling asleep so as not to think. I was already warming some milk on the stove to make me drowsy when I heard three knocks.

Someone was at the door.

But why would Erik be knocking? He had the keys; he had locked the door...

Then who was there? Had I finally gone mad? I ought to be, after all...

I turned off the stove and shuffled over to the door, peering out the window beside it. I recognized the hat, the form, the familiar jade eyes...

The Persian!

I barely hesitated to open the door, so desperate was I for someone to converse with. I did, however, cling to the doorframe, wary of what awaited me should Erik see me go outside the house.

But I was still inside the house, was I not?

"Mademoiselle," the Persian said wearily, removing his hat. "I am sorry."

I nodded sadly, "You didn't intend it... But at least I am above ground. It's not so terrible, not as I thought-"

"Your mother is failing."

I stared at him in stupefaction, "What... what do you mean?"

"When we returned-" he sighed, "and I tell you, we had no intention of being absent so long, and we did not know you would go outside, but... Upon finding you missing, she suffered some sort of seizure, or stroke, and she cannot... she cannot move but her mouth and eyes, and she... has not eaten... not since. I have come to take you to her."

My features tensed with tears, and I felt my lower lip trembling.

"But I can't," I told him painfully. "I can't, Erik is in such a state, and I don't know what h-he'll do if he finds me g-gone, and what if he takes me back under the lake?! I don't know, I don't know! I can't go back down there should he be upset and he could lock me away and... and... Please, monsieur, I must see her, but I cannot... I c-cannot... W-what do I do?"

"Where is he?" He asked.

"He said... he said he was going to work."

"Then take this," he handed me a few francs, "and visit your mother. He has gone to the opera house, and I shall keep him there so he won't know."

"But how?"

"You must visit your mother, child," he told me. "You know that you must. I will do my best to protect you, though I know you must not have much trust in me now."

I clasped the money in my hand, "No... Thank you... Thank you."


	33. Chapter 33: Mamma Valerius

Dread settled in the pit of my stomach. What if maman had already passed? And what if Erik found out? For he would, he always did... And how did the Persian intend to delay him?

The carriage stopped in front of maman's flat, and, upon knocking on her door, I was greeted by a mousy female nurse.

"I'm Christine," I explained, and she let me inside.

I darted to maman's bedside and was nearly overcome with the fear that she was dead. Her skin was devoid of color, her chest still, her papery eyelids shut. As I reached for her hand I could already feel that her warmth was fading, and fading fast. Just like how my father's hand had felt under my trembling little hand all those years ago.

 _"Papa? Papa, don't leave yet... Don't leave me yet..."_

"Maman?" I whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered open, fragile as butterfly wings, and her hand shifted ever so slightly on her abdomen. The sides of her glassy eyes softened, and I hastened to kiss her forehead to bring her some warmth.

"Forgive me, Maman," I pleaded. "It's my fault for all of this, it's my..."

She wheezed to silence me, and I sobbed into her bedsheets as I had before. Then I took her frail hand in mine, desperate to delay her fate.

But she was vanishing before my eyes. The light in her eyes became darker... and darker... Her pallor seemed to grow even paler, her hands thinner, and her lips became tinged with the blue kiss of death...

I lost all track of time. I heard nothing. I felt nothing but her cold hand, which maintained weak pulse, a dying flicker...

The sun was bleeding through the window, red with as it set, when the nurse came in to check on her patient. I could not remember her coming and going, but she must been doing that every hour or so.

"Madame?" She said softly. "You ought to close her eyes now."

I looked up at her, unable to speak.

"She has passed, madame."

It took me a moment to understand. I realized that her pulse had indeed faded, the light in her eyes was gone entirely. My hand moved to gently shut her eyes, but continued to stare at her lifeless frame, uncomprehending, just as confused as I had been with my father.

 _"He is in heaven now, child... Child? You must leave now."_

 _"Let me remain."_

 _"You must leave, child."_

 _"I cannot."_

 _"Child, your father is dead. Pray for peace over his soul. That is what you can do now... Our father, who art in heaven..."_

"I will contact the coroner." The nurse said. "Madame? Do you wish to stay until he arrives?"

I nodded blankly.

When night fell, after maman had been taken away, I returned to Erik. The Persian could not have delayed him into the night, so I knew what I was facing, and perhaps I wanted him to hurt me. I wanted to feel something.

I entered the house, and there was Erik sitting in the drawing room, simply waiting for me. He rose, his thin frame taught, and he approached me with fire in his dark sockets. I did not flinch, did not move, did not speak.

"Where were you?" He demanded harshly.

I looked up at him with dewy eyes.

"Where were you?!"

I blinked twice, slowly.

Without warning, he grabbed my forearms and stared into my eyes. His grip was tight, and it drew tears from me.

"Where were you?" He pleaded.

"My mother..." I whispered.

He shoved me away from himself, and I collapsed to the floor, too weak to stand.

"You visited your mother?!" He cried.

"She's... d-... dead." I replied monotonously. "She's... dead."

"Did I not forbid you to leave?" He demanded, oblivious to my pain. "Did I not expressly say, 'You are forbidden to leave?!' Then why did you disobey?! Why do you insist on tormenting me? Why will you not stay?... Why does no one ever stay with me?! They always flee and abandon me, and when they do stay, they die! So are you dead now, my Christine, for you cannot look at me?!... I gave you the choice to die before, and you refused, yet now it seems you wish you could go back to that choice! Do you want the grasshopper now? For he is far away, and you will not stir, you would not walk to reach him! You would rather run away to your dead mother, because her love is better than mine, even when her heart does not beat! If I were pleasant, and had a nose, you would accept my love, too! You would run after my love, for I love you more. I love you more than anyone... And you are my wife, mine, my little, precious Christine, so you must let me love you! I do not even want kisses and embraces so much as I simply wish for you to stand beside me and not die! But you cannot even manage that anymore. You flee my love, which in the heart of another man would make you swoon! But I make you... faint..."

He realized I was weeping in perfect silence, and his anger seemed to have flickered out from it. He stared down at me for a moment, and I wondered whether he would strike me, whether my tears had infuriated him further.

Instead, he backed away, and said softly, "I never had a mother... Is that why you cry? And she was not even your real mother, yet you weep for her, and you will not answer me... My mother, my real mother, beat me and shut me away... but you are beautiful, so she must have loved you, even if she had not borne you... Is that why you cry? Do you miss her?... I have never missed my mother." He told me simply. "I hope she is dead, and she must be, for perhaps she would be happy then... She was never happy when I saw her, though she did laugh at me, as most did... You have never laughed at me, my Christine, perhaps because you were too frightened... Or too brave, what a brave thing you are, to disobey Erik. He would never hurt you, though you might think it, for he would rather lock himself in his own torture chamber than hurt you..." He took a step closer to me. "Will you speak now, my little Christine? I will not punish you in a way that shall hurt..." Then he sighed, "It's so quiet here, alone, in this house, and that is why I wanted a wife, to never be alone. I have been alone all my life, for no one was ever willing or forced to stay with me. But as you are my wife, you must... So now I will never be alone... But I feel rather alone now, as you will not speak or stir. As your husband, I can command you to speak... But you would not listen if I did. You did not listen this morning nor ever to me, truly... Perhaps you may let me hold you, though, as you are so still."

I felt him pick me up, and he took me over to the sofa and cradled me like an infant. I wept into him, feeling that the last part of me had shattered. He had no idea what to do with me, so he ran his hand through my hair as he must have seen someone do before to console someone. I wept harder at this, for I wanted to pretend it was maman who held me so, but her hands had once been warm and soft, and Erik's were cold and bony. And he trembled, his whole body shook, and soon he began to weep with me.

When we ceased, I gained the ability to speak, and asked hoarsely, "May I go to bed now?"

"If... if I may kiss you goodnight." He told me.

I nodded weakly, and after he had done so, I shuffled up to my bedroom. My entire body trembled with fatigue and lack of food, for I had not eaten anything all day. I could vaguely remember refusing the nurse both lunch and dinner...

I collapsed onto my bed and fell asleep fully dressed.

In the morning, I found Erik curled up at the foot of my bed. I gave a start, then realized he had done nothing to me, and that he must have simply wanted my company.

My movement woke him, and he slid off the bed, not showing any sign of embarrassment. He even seemed rather happy.

"I'm going to buy you mourning clothes," he told me. "Then you can mourn for a while, and feel happy again after."

I nodded blankly.

"And I'll try to find some Swedish foods for you, to make you happy. And chocolates... And, and, my little Christine, I will have someone come tend to the garden! But you may rest now, all morning, and then you will feel better."

I nodded again, and he left, shutting the door behind himself.

Why was he not upset with me? All he had done was yell and cry last night... And there seemed to be no punishment for my actions.

I did not leave my bed, not even to change into a proper nightgown. I stared up at the ceiling all morning until Erik returned. He had me eat something, and set gifts upon my dresser. He told me to dress when I liked, and that he would remain with me, as he was lonely and I was his wife.

And perhaps his presence was beneficial, for I did not dare cry in front of him for fear he would do the same.

Why was there not a limit to how many tears one can shed?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Do you really think Erik has forgiven Christine for disobeying him? And how is Christine going to cope with her loss? And will we find out what exactly occurred with the Persian and Erik?**

 **Well, I might answer some of those. We'll see.**


	34. Chapter 34: Shards

"You may have one week to mourn," Erik informed me, as he set the two black dresses on my bed.

I sat up tiredly, "What do you mean?"

"After that week, you will be normal again."

"That's... not how it _works_." I sighed.

"But you disobeyed me, and she is not your real mother, so you may have a week to mourn. Is that not generous? I should give you no time at all."

"But I can't control when I will be better," I replied painfully. "And I shan't be in a week... She was my m-mother, Erik. The only mother I ever truly had."

"But she is dead now."

I shut my eyes and fell back upon the bed, "Leave me alone... _please._ "

"I can play music for you-"

"I don't want music, Erik." I moaned, starting to cry. "I want my m-mother... A-and unless you can bring her b-back then I shall mourn for as long as I p-please!"

I dissolved into tears, and Erik slammed the door behind himself as he left.

Blå pawed at the side of my bed, and I scooped him into my arms to console myself. I wanted maman... I just wanted her to be alive and well, not even to be with me, simply to be drawing _breath._

When I had cried my fill, Erik came back into my room with his violin. He was timid as he shut the door behind himself, and I turned my foggy gaze to him, still sniffling.

"Do you want music now?" He asked.

"I suppose," I sighed, letting Blå plop onto the floor and go hide in the washstand cabinet.

The happiness his music evoked within me was hollow, for it was false. There was not an ounce of joy within me, and even the thought of Maman in heaven did not bring me any consolation, for I wanted her here. I wanted someone...

He removed the violin from his shoulder and sat down gingerly on the bed after setting it on my dresser.

"You should eat your chocolates," he advised.

I was too exhausted to reply.

"Did you not like my music?"

Silence.

"Perhaps a mournful tune would be better.."

Why would that do any good? But he started one anyway, a piece that would bring anyone to tears within the first few measures. The delicate vibrato at the beginning, timid, strengthening on each note as they lengthened. Soon the melodies became grief itself, and loss entwined with fear, and love with anger. The long notes were gentle, then they swelled into what can only be described as pure pain. The notes had taken dark colors, and they seemed no longer notes at all, but sentiments themselves.

I was so swept up in the haunting melodies that I did not realize that I felt my emptiness filling as each note tugged at my heart. He was expressing in music the exact feelings of my soul, feelings that he had never even _felt_ , as he had said. But he could feel my pain and was turning it into song, and with it, conveying all my hurt and gently coaxing it away into the air, where it dissolved in decrescendos.

The last note was a sigh, and with that, I turned to Erik in renewed amazement, though no less fatigued.

"What is that song called?" I asked softly.

"The Death of an Angel," he told me simply, as if it were perfectly normal. "I wrote it when I thought you were dead."

"Oh... a-all of it?"

"Emotion is easy to turn into melodies when experiencing it."

"Don't... don't play that again," I whispered. "I want to sleep now."

"A lullaby, then."

"Fine," I replied, turning over under the bedsheets and shutting my eyes.

For a long while I slipped in and out of contorted dreams, all of which I forgot when I turned over in bed.

When I finally was free of these, I slid out from under the sheets and peered out the window into the garden. Sure enough, Erik had a few men working on taming it for me.

I fell back upon my bed to cry some more, but found that my eyes seemed to at last have run out of tears, so instead I sighed. I had no appetite, no will. I wanted nothing but to sit in silence, my head empty of all thoughts.

As the week wore on, Erik became increasingly irritable at my state.

One day he came in crying and muttering incoherently. He sobbed into my bedsheets while I watched in numb confusion.

"What's wrong?" I finally dared to ask.

He twisted the sheets between his spindly fingers, replying, "It's Sunday."

"And?"

At this he rose angrily, "Husbands take their wives to the park on Sundays!"

"Not if they mourn."

"Exactly! And so you wish to be cruel to me, that is why you mourn, to deprive me of your company!"

I argued tiredly, "I let you sleep on the edge of my bed at night, let you play, how am I depriving you-?"

"I'm taking away your kitten," he exclaimed suddenly, with conviction.

"W-why?"

"Because I can! Where is he?"

"Please, Erik, I-"

"Where?!"

I gestured weakly to the washstand cabinet, then started to cry. He swiftly forgot his errand and was back at my side, begging me to cease.

"You spend more time with your kitten than Erik," he explained, gently taking my hand. "So I must take him away."

"Yes, take him away, like you do with everything," I retorted miserably.

"It's your own fault that I take things away, for you are mourning now only to be rid of me. You only want to stay in bed and avoid Erik, though he is your husband."

"I'm in bed because I am grieving, Erik," I retorted. "Not because I wish to avoid you."

"Tomorrow is the last day you are permitted to mourn." He told me, ignoring my explanation. "You could at least come into the garden to weep."

He went over to the washstand and pulled out Blå, who hissed at the indignity of being scruffed.

"Don't take him, Erik," I pleaded weakly. "Why would you make me unhappy?"

He turned to me, then averted his eyes, "Because I am unhappy."

And with that, he left with Blå, who was still hissing and spitting. I rose from my bed, filled with the desire to destroy everything in the room, as I had done before with the ostrich egg. I went to my dresser and took a vase of roses in my hands, poised to let it fall and shatter against the floorboards.

But I hesitated, and I turned to another vase that had been hidden by the mass of bouquets.

 _Lilacs._

I promptly threw these to the floor, and the purple buds were strewn all over. The glass shards scattered all around, some choosing to lie in the puddle of green-tinged water. The sight did not delight as I had hoped, however, and instead drew tears from my exhausted eyes, only increasing my misery.

I went back over to my bed and collapsed upon it, sobbing. There was a sharp pain in my feet, and I belatedly addressed it to find my soles riddled with little shards. Dazed, I removed a few with my fingertips, mesmerized by the crimson beads they had drawn, which were striking against my pale pallor.

Erik's footsteps came swiftly upstairs, and he threw open the door, having heard the commotion. At the sight of my blood, he darted over to me to examine me, his eyes pained.

"What have you done to your poor feet?" He asked horrified. "My poor Christine! Let me fetch bandages; don't get up."

I blinked up at the ceiling, sniffling. The pain was somewhat pleasant, in fact, for I felt something.

He returned with a bowl of warm water, a towel, tweezers, and bandages. I allowed him to tend to me, which he did as gently as he could, but the pain was sharp and made me wince. When the glass had been fully removed, he wrapped my feet in towels wet with warm water, then looked upon me, his gaze pained and full of tears.

"Was this purposeful?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"But you broke the vase?"

I nodded.

"Was it because of the kitten, my dear?"

"Not entirely," I murmured.

"Was it because of Erik?"

"Yes."

"Is pain a better companion than he?" He sobbed miserably.

"No."

"Then why have you hurt yourself, when you know it brings me pain? My poor little Christine, I love you so much, yet you care not... Do you hurt now, my dear?" He asked, pained. "Have I helped?"

I nodded blankly.

"Perhaps..." he said softly, thinking. "I ought to return your kitten, for you cannot go on hurting your poor little feet, and that must have upset you. Yes, that is why you hurt yourself, because of the kitten, not Erik... Let me bandage them now, then I will fetch him for you."

"Where is he?" I asked hoarsely.

"In a box downstairs," he replied, beginning to bind my feet.

Once finished, he was true to his word, and brought up Blå to sit on my lap. In seeing a thin smile from me at this, he was appeased, and he bent down to kiss my forehead, which I allowed.

"You will be happy again very soon," he informed me.

Oh, Erik, you do not understand what I feel...


	35. Chapter 35: Two Promises

Erik had just brought up my dinner on a silver tray, as usual. And as usual, it now sat, untouched, on my nightstand. He was perched at the edge of my bed, watching me deep in melancholy thought, until his own mind started to drift as well.

"Erik..." I asked softly, breaking out of my daze. "Do you love me?"

"My sweet Christine, I love you more than anything," he replied, a little confused. "Why do you ask, when you know very well that I love you?"

I averted my eyes to my fidgeting hands, "I want a favor."

"What?" He asked skeptically.

I took a breath and glanced back over at him, "They ought to have laid maman to rest now, and... and the funeral must have already occurred, for she had a few friends and relatives... So I want to visit her grave tomorrow, to end my mourning. I know where it is, with her husband. Beside her husband, like she wanted."

His hideous features tightened, "Is this a trick of yours? Like you did before?"

"Trick? What do you mean?"

He rose and replied coldly, "You make promises often, and you promised twice that you would marry me, then you went back on both. You tell me now that I should take you to your mother's grave, and that that shall appease you... Why should I believe you? Why should I not fulfill _my_ promise, that you shall be done with mourning tomorrow? You are making Erik a liar, and he is terrible at oaths anyway, so why make him worse?"

"I can't be at peace unless I go to her grave," I pleaded gently. "I'll be miserable until I do."

"But I told you that your mourning would end tomorrow, so you shall not be."

"You love me, Erik, you love me very much, don't you?... Don't you want to make me happy?"

"You would only cry more," he retorted, pacing. "You would demand _more_ time to mourn, and then you would be screaming and sobbing when Erik says no... and he would have to shut you a-away..." He gave me a pained look. "Don't make him shut you away up here like he did before. It was horrible."

"For you?" I scoffed weakly.

He seemed greatly disturbed by the memory, and his pacing quickened, "He cried that you would not obey Erik, and that he had to lock you in your room and listen to you cry, you have such a piercing cry. And you called for him... E-Erik's mother never listened to him when he cried and called for her, and he did the same to you. And he thought he had to, because wives are supposed to obey, but he loves you, and he didn't know what to do, so he let you cry until you gave in... He let you cry..."

"Then I'll be a good wife," I promised. "Erik, I'll go on walks in the park on Sundays, like you want. I want you to take me shopping and on carriage rides, and I shall be a devoted wife to you. I promise! Please, just let me say goodbye to my mother. You have no reason to trust me, I know, but you _love_ me. You love me and want to make me happy... Won't you make me happy?"

He fidgeted with his hands, not making eye contact.

"Do you want something else?" I offered tremulously.

"Erik wants..." he said, his voice weak. "Erik wants to... s-sleep beside you tonight... not a-at the end, beside, but not touching, just beside, i-if you don't want to touch... And then tomorrow he will take you to see your mother's grave, to end your mourning. Then you will be a devoted wife like you promised, and no longer mourn. But this way, Erik can trust you."

My heart sunk with dread, but I nodded, "Alright... i-if we don't touch."

He started to cry, overwhelmed with joy. He buried his face in the bedsheets beside me, shaking all over with sobs.

Then he left to take away my uneaten dinner, and as the glow of sunset began to fade, I felt myself panicking.

But why? I demanded of myself, as my heart began to pound against my ribcage. Erik would not take me, for if he had wanted to, he would have already. He would not touch me at all. Of course not...

My logic began to fade, and I started to rock in a pitiful attempt to calm myself. I pressed my back up against the back of the bed, taking deep, shaky breaths.

But by the time Erik had returned, my head was spinning out of control, and though I breathed rapidly, the air had somehow become depleted of oxygen. I was crying in my confusion, and he was so bewildered at the state of me, so terrified, that he encircled me, begging me to tell him what the matter was. I tried desperately to breathe, but the room was suffocating me; and Erik pacing about me was not helping one bit. Faces were formed out of objects around me, ghastly faces like Erik's, as I struggled to regain my sanity.

"My poor little Christine," he asked, pained and tearful. "What's wrong? Why do you rock yourself so? Can you not breathe?"

I took shuddering breaths and buried my face in my knees, which were tucked up to my chest. As I pressed myself further up against the back of the bed, I became somewhat more lucid, and realized I must be having some sort of anxiety attack. There was a ballet girl once who had them after rehearsals every so often, but I couldn't recall how she had treated them, or if she had. Perhaps smelling salts?

I looked up from my knees to make this suggestion to Erik, but found him gone. Puzzled, my breathing steadied slightly from my curiosity, then escalated as I slid off the bed, wincing in sharp pain from my wounded feet. I fell back upon the bed, my panic returning in full force, then heard Erik running up the stairs to me. He entered the room with a cup of something, and commanded me to drink it. The smell was of herbs, and I let him tip it to my lips, then I cringed at the bitter taste and tried to shove it away. He brought it more firmly to my mouth and tipped it down my throat.

Then he retreated from me as I coughed, gasping for breath. I continued to breathe heavily, staring at him, wondering what on earth he had forced me to drink. My senses, which had been heightened and distorted, slowly began to relax, but no lucidity returned to me. I felt myself slipping into sleep, and Erik tucked me into the bed, then, as my eyelids shut, I heard him leave, and was almost certain he was crying.

When I awoke the next morning, having had no dreams, thankfully, it took me a moment to remember why Erik was not at the edge of my bed, and why I had such an awful taste in my mouth.

I slid off the bed, wincing, then shuffled over to my washbasin. As I poured some water from the pitcher beside it, a "mew" came from below me, and Blå nudged his way out of the cabinet door.

"Good morning," I said weakly, not bending down for fear it would hurt. "I need to ask Erik to feed you, don't I?"

He mewed again, heading to the door and pawing at it.

"Let me wash my face, first," I told him, shivering at the freezing water as it hit my cheeks.

As I pressed my face into a towel, I shuffled over to the door, opening it for my little companion. Why he wanted out was beyond me, though. He despised Erik, and I was only tolerable.

Cruel fate made Erik open his door as I shut mine, and he came over to me swiftly, delighted that I was better.

"My little Christine," he said happily. "My dear, you look so much better already! Get dressed, but you may wear your black dress after lunch, when I take you to your mother's grave."

"W-what?" I demanded.

"Do you not want to go?" He asked, confused.

"You're taking me? You're really taking me?"

"I cannot simply say that you are done with mourning, I suppose. You've never obeyed me before now, so it ought to be finished somehow, then you will accept it. And after today, you will forget her and devote yourself to being a wife, like you promised. And you won't disobey anymore!"

"But I... I was alone last night."

"Not all night." He told me, trying to somehow console me and failing. "I watched you for a little while. You're very beautiful when you sleep, even more than when awake. More peaceful... But it doesn't matter that you were alone, for Erik shouldn't be beside you at night. He shouldn't have asked."

"Oh..." I said softly.

"How are your little feet?" He inquired, glancing down at them.

"A little sore... but I can walk."

To be honest, the idea of walking on anything other than the carpet below my feet sounded horribly painful, but I had to say farewell to maman. I had to visit her resting place...

Would Erik let me set flowers on her grave? Probably not, and I had better not ask.

"Are you sure they don't hurt?" He asked again.

I nodded.

"I should change the bandages, though."

"Okay... Could you bring me breakfast?"

He hesitated in the doorway, "You want to eat?"

"A little porridge, maybe."

His hideous features contorted into joy, "My dear, you won't leave it untouched? You will actually eat?"

I nodded.

He reached out to kiss my hands, but hesitated before touching them, fearful I would snatch my hands away. I inhaled and offered them to him, and after he had swiftly kissed them, he left in high spirits to bring me breakfast.

"Oh, Erik, you poor dear..." I sighed. "Christine's a poor dear, too, I suppose..."

After dressing, I sat down on the edge of my bed, amusing myself by fidgeting with my hands and tracing the lines on my palms. A pained smile came upon my features, remembering when I had pretended to read Raoul's palm as a child, and how exasperated the preacher's wife had been upon finding us sitting on a hilltop, engaged in the "sinful and deceitful practices of gypsies!" She had then informed my father, who had pretended that it was as terrible as she had said. Then, once alone, he had laughed with the two of us over it, and explained. It was harmless, he said, for we were only playing... although he did inform Raoul that I was not gifted with divination, much to my chagrin.

Memories that had once delighted me now made my heart sink deeper into sorrow.

Erik nudged open the door and placed a tray on my lap, which held a single bowl of porridge, with a dollop of dark jam in the center.

"Thank you," I told him, giving him a thin smile.

He attempted to return the expression, but I averted my eyes rather than see that horrible sight.

"Let me fetch your bandages now," he told me, forgetting to shut the door as he left.

I found my appetite greatly renewed, and by the time he had returned, the bowl was clean. Delighted with this, he asked if I wanted another, but I replied that I wanted my bandages changed first, and he did as I asked. His face fell as he unwrapped them, and as I stared blankly at the wall, I felt something warm and wet on my foot. Fearing that Erik had kissed it, I recoiled, then realized he was crying, and the sensation had been from a teardrop.

"It's not your fault," I told him. "I stepped on the glass."

"Erik took away your kitten," he sobbed. "He upset you, and so you hurt your feet, your pretty little feet-"

"Erik, it's just my feet. They're not sacred or anything-"

"Every part of you is sacred," he replied solemnly, glancing up at me.

I shut my eyes for a moment, "I'm not an angel, Erik. I've been a terrible wife to you, haven't I?"

"Erik deserves no wife at all." He told me, beginning to gently wrap my feet in new bandages. "A terrible wife is better than he should have."

"I want... I want to try to be a good wife now, as long as you are a good husband. And you don't shut me inside all day."

"And you will not mourn?"

"I won't stay in bed all day... but I'm still sad, Erik, I can't get rid of my sadness."

"But you smiled today," he said happily. "And you ate!"

"Yes," I sighed. "I did."

He was both easy and impossible to please.


	36. Chapter 36: A Ray of Sunshine

I did everything I could to please him that morning. I sang, I forced a smile onto my face, and I managed to eat all of my lunch. He told me to put on one of the black dresses, and that we would only spend a little time at the grave, probably because he didn't want me to be too effected by it.

Once in my mourning dress, I decided I ought to ask to bring flowers. I shuffled downstairs, and found him waiting on the sofa wearing his false nose, and in a darker suit than normal, which made me hesitate a moment in confusion. Why would he go to any trouble? He had been jealous of maman before, so why would he have changed into something (barely) nicer?

"You look lovely, my dear," he told me. "May I kiss you before we leave?"

"Yes, but may I ask you something?"

"What, my love?"

"Could I bring some flowers?"

He blinked once, "I suppose people do bring flowers... Forgive Erik, he has never mourned anyone and forgot about bringing flowers. Take some from your bedroom."

"Let me kiss you, Erik," I said, giving a weak smile. "You're being so kind today."

Why was he, though? This was so unusual of him.

He was still as marble as I approached him, and as he was on the sofa I simply bent down a little to plant a small kiss on his forehead. He promptly began to cry, and I sighed, hoping we would not be too delayed.

"Erik is being kind?" He asked tearfully.

"You're letting me visit my mother's grave and bring her flowers. That's kind, for you do not want me to do those things, but let me to make me happy."

"What if you aren't happy? Will you cry at the grave?"

I bit my lip, "Yes... I-I will cry. But you can comfort me."

"How?" He asked, his tears faltering.

"You can put your arms around me when I cry, if you want," I informed him.

"And kiss you?" He inquired.

"Maybe... a little. But, um," I had no desire to have him kiss my face repeatedly, "Did you know? It's common for men to kiss the top of their wives' heads to comfort them. You can do that, if you want... Let me get the flowers."

He nodded, sitting back on the sofa. I supported myself on the railing as I went upstairs, to ease the pain in my feet. It surprised me that he did not leap to my aid, but perhaps I was such a gifted actress that he didn't notice. Or something in his poor, twisted mind told him not to help me or I would hate him.

I took a bouquet of purple and white flowers, feeling something unpleasant rise up in the pit of my stomach. I had felt it before, and I feared what it was and would not address it, for it hurt my heart terribly.

Desperate to rid myself of the thoughts in my head, which were swiftly turning against me, I shuffled downstairs in a brisk fashion, wincing as my feet met the hard wood.

"Are you crying?" Erik demanded, worried.

"I'm fine," I replied.

"We may leave now then, my little Christine."

"Could... Could you support me a bit? Just a bit, I put on thick stockings earlier, but my feet are still a little sore."

"Is that why you looked pained? Then perhaps we should stay-"

"No, no," I protested quickly, "you can just... hold my arm like another husband would do with his wife. Then it won't hurt, and no one will notice."

I offered my arm to him, and he entwined it in his, content again. The journey to maman's gravesite would take three hours, three terrible hours, but Erik was perfectly happy to sit beside me in such close proximity. I, however, was unable to fall into a blank daze as I had before, so I became increasingly bored, as well as upset over maman. The feeling in my stomach also tormented me.

"We've been in here an hour now, at least," I sighed.

"Two more to go, my dear."

I fidgeted a moment, then sighed again, "I'm bored."

He turned to me. The false nose and mustache were almost laughable, but somehow they blended in with his jaundice-afflicted skin tone.

"What would you like to do?" He asked.

"What do you want to do?"

"Just this." He said simply. "It's very nice to sit with you."

I fidgeted again before looking back over at him.

"Do you like my hair, Erik?" I asked.

"Your hair is lovely," he replied. "Like sunshine."

"Have you ever touched my hair?"

"Once. Why?"

"Do you want to touch my hair now?"

"Why are you being so cruel to me?!" He demanded suddenly, causing me to shy away. "You cruel little thing, why do you keep asking only to torment me?!"

"I was going to let you." I retorted, my voice choking up with tears. "Why d-do you yell at me? Why would I h-hurt you?"

"You would let me?" He asked, bewildered. "You were going to let me, even though you're not afraid and sad like last time?"

"Maybe not now," I said childishly, feeling warm tears drip down my face as I crossed my arms around the bouquet.

"Don't cry," he pleaded. "Forgive Erik, he didn't think you would actually let him."

I rested my head on my hands, facing away from him. He attempted to turn my shoulder to him, but I refused to budge, still sobbing.

"He didn't mean to yell," he told me. "Please stop crying, he didn't mean to yell."

"It's not t-that..." I sobbed. "Erik, I... Do you know why I never begged you to take me to see maman's funeral? Or grave before now?"

"No," he replied, still concerned.

"Because I... It's my fault."

"Your fault?"

I sobbed harder, "Had I not been so selfish and run away she would have been fine. It's my fault she had a s-stroke, or whatever she h-had, poor maman! It's all my fault, Erik. It's my fault she's dead, because I was so selfish and stupid!"

The feeling in my stomach settled, having been at last addressed. It was guilt.

"You are not selfish," he told me simply. "You were only afraid."

"But I was cruel to leave you."

"It was not truly cruel of you, for you were frightened. That was all. It's not your fault you ran, for Erik is hideous and terrifying-"

"Oh, Erik, you don't understand! I ran not because I was frightened, but because I did not wish to give up myself to anyone. What a selfish woman I am, to want to be alone and in power of myself... I'm not a woman at all! Why won't you tell me I'm horrible? You told me earlier that I was cruel, why not now?"

He stared at me with infinite pain in his deep-set eyes.

"You are such a child," he told me gently. "You are still such a child, thinking that you are horrible when you sit next to Erik."

"I am a child," I said tearfully. "I am, aren't I?"

"You say it with such distaste. You are not a child as in the whiny things that sniffle and beg for sweets; you are youthful, naive, and you don't understand what it is to be horrible. You don't understand, and it is lovely to see you not understand, for then you are unable to hate Erik as you should. You cannot comprehend what horrors this world contains, save death, but that is a minimal horror compared with all the hell here on earth. Erik has seen hell, and he deserves it... But you shall never know why, because you are heaven... And, to console you, your mother ought to be in heaven now, like your father, because she was kind to you. But she is gone now, and when we leave for home, you can forget her."

Why was he so pensive all of a sudden?

"But..." I asked, "tell me, you must admit that it _is_ my fault that she passed away?"

"She was old. She would have died eventually, everyone dies. Besides, she died with you, so it must have been a very happy death... And you can focus on being a good wife with her gone." Then he turned to me while I pondered what he had said previously. "Will you mourn me when I die? Will you stay by my side?"

I looked over at him, "Yes... Of course I will. You're all I have now. I have no friends, no f-family... If you die, I would be alone."

"But you would be free," he told me sadly. "You would have enough money to do as you pleased, and as a widow, you could do whatever you wanted. It comforts me to know that my death will make you happy."

"I don't want to be happy and alone, for I cannot be both... There is no freedom for me now, for my mother is in heaven, and my father, and anyone else who ever loved me. No one at the opera house save a few little ballet girls had any fondness for me, save in my voice... I have only you."

What a miserable thought...

He put his head on the tips of his folded fingertips for a moment, deep in thought. I wiped away my tears, regaining myself and considering what he had said. For the first time, he had made logical sense. It was true that maman had not been alone upon her passing, which would have occurred had I stayed with Erik. It was true that I had not done whatever horrible things he had. And it was true that I had not been selfish, only frightened. I had been a child, and human, so I had made human errors.

If only he could always be so sane and pensive... This was the best he had been since I had met him, I thought.

"Have you ever wanted to be a mother?" Erik asked suddenly.

I blinked in confusion, and replied tiredly, "What? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You wouldn't be alone when I die if you had a child to care for. And they could love you-"

"We can't have a child."

"Yes, but do you want one?"

"What does it matter?" I sighed. "We can't."

"If I was another man, who was handsome and whom you loved, would you want a child?"

"I... Yes, Erik," I sighed again. "But what does that have to do with anything right now? Can't you see I'm in pain?"

"Nothing," he told me. "I only wished to know. Do your feet trouble you so?"

"It's my heart that troubles me."

"You have such a lovely heart. Why does it trouble you?"

I shut my eyes in irritation, "My mother, Erik."

"She's dead. You don't have to trouble your heart with her."

I turned to him, pained, "Exactly... You know very little of hearts, except for your own."

"Oh, Erik knows nothing of his own heart, either."

"I suppose not..."

"May I touch your hair now?" He asked with childish hesitation.

"Fine... you may."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **What's up with Erik? And come on, Christine deserves a round of applause for not giving him a much-deserved slap in the face yet. Poor thing. Can you imagine, having all that guilt fester up inside you, with no one to talk to that you can trust? Then having Erik, the poor selfish man, (almost) successfully comfort you?**

 **But will this continue to go mostly well, or will Erik ruin everything again? And how will he react to Christine at Mamma Valerius' grave?**


	37. Chapter 37: The Grave and the Garden

"Are you going to set down your flowers, my dear?" Erik asked softly. "Dear?"

I stared blankly at maman's headstone. She was actually there, below me under the fresh mound of earth.

 _Dead._

I had known she was dead, seen her fade away, but there was something heart-wrenching and final about knowing I couldn't see her now, that she was gone, truly gone. I would never see her again, never come home to her smiling and knitting and asking about my angel of music. There would be no sweet scent of rosewater, no soft, veined hands to hold. Nothing. She was cold and lifeless, just below me... Just below me...

It was different than with Papa, for I had thought he would come back, as I was a child, though really only a few years from becoming a woman. My mind was naive and pure, so I prayed every night for him to get better. Then, when he had passed, I begged for him to be resurrected. God had done it for Lazarus, hadn't he? And to me, my father was important enough that he ought to be revived. His blue lips would warm and light would flood his eyes. I could see it as I shut my eyes to pray, my hands clasped at my window, a young woman begging for a miracle like a toddler. My life was crumbling before my tear-filled eyes and I could only stare in numb horror as I sunk deeper into despair and solitude. And the solitude was not just in my life, but in my mind. I was alone in my grief, with no one to talk to, no one to confide in, not even someone as broken as Erik, as I had now.

When I saw Papa's headstone for the first time, stood in front of it, I had been still determined that he would come back. My prayers turned into hours of weeping, and after a month I finally accepted that he was gone. I accepted my fate to be alone. Only the faint hope of the Angel of Music remained, but I was doubting his existence, as I was doubting God's.

I became a shell of a being. My only friend was maman, but we were not so close back then. As I trained for the chorus I was utterly alone, for I was a foreigner. My accent gradually became thinner, but still all I had were acquaintances. And no one was mesmerized by my voice; it was only acceptable. There were no mouths agape as there had been when I sang accompanied by my father's violin. There was nothing. I had nothing.

And then my angel finally came, but how was I to know that was a curse and not a blessing? The first few months with the Angel had been so wonderful... and now...

Erik asked me something, but I heard him as if through a fog, and had no idea what he had said.

I turned to him, empty and weak, blinking to clear away my daze.

"We should leave," he informed me. "Set down your flowers, then we can leave."

I turned back to maman's headstone, and burst into quiet sobs, trembling all over with them as if I would fall apart.

"Let's go now," he pleaded, extending his hand to me. "Come on, my love."

I hugged myself and withdrew from him, still staring down at the grave. He tried to take my wrist, but I wrapped it further into my arm, refusing to so much as look at him.

"This is too exciting for you," he told me. "Come now, let's return and forget this... Don't make me drag you, come now... My dear, why won't you let me comfort you as you promised?"

He tried timidly to embrace me, and I shoved him away with surprising vehemence, leaving him bewildered and hurt. I sobbed harder at this, in both fear and regret.

"You're not right," he pleaded. "Give me your hand; I don't want to hurt you."

"She's dead," I whispered painfully, turning to him, still clutching my arms. "She's dead."

"She is dead... Are you sane, my dear?"

I shut my eyes painfully, "Why?"

"Her heart stopped beating. You know this. Now come here, don't hurt yourself-"

" _Why?_ " I demanded brokenly.

"Because this world is merciless, my poor little Christine," he sighed sadly. "So come home now and forget this pain, and we can be happy again. Just come here."

When had we ever been happy?

I set the flowers down onto the soft earth, and after this, Erik seized my wrists as gently as he could. I pulled away and screamed, so he clapped a hand to my mouth.

"My Christine," he pleaded tearfully, "why do you struggle? I'm not hurting you, we just need to go home-"

I nearly broke free of him, but he managed to pin me to his chest. I gasped for breath, as his grip was tight and desperate, almost like he thought I would run away.

"Let me go," I pleaded, freeing my mouth for a moment. "You're hurting me!"

He ignored me, nearly in tears himself.

I fought uselessly, recklessly, not caring if I hurt him. For the first time I didn't care if I hurt him. And it was horrible as he dragged me, ignoring my muffled sobs and cries. At one point, he picked me up and pressed me hard against his chest, and his heart beat frantically, as mine was. Perhaps it was good for me to be lashing out, letting out every pent out emotion.

By some terrible miracle, my arm was freed just long enough due to my struggling that I reached up and slapped him, causing him to drop me in stunned confusion. I tore off toward the grave, numb to my pain, to his, unaware of what I was even _doing._

I broke down in front of the grave, fully, falling to my knees before it. Erik must have realized that I would be manageable once exhausted by tears, and that I would not hurt myself or dart away again, because he did not touch me. He let me weep while I sat before the mound of earth covering maman.

When I did glance at him out of the corner of my eye, he was staring at the gravestone in curiosity and confusion. His head was cocked ever so slightly, and he seemed unable to comprehend. Perhaps he believed that I was mad, and I must have seemed such.

I then sang, tremulously, to her, as a farewell. It was an opera piece, an adieu, and fitting for the circumstance. So fitting...

It felt like hours before I ran out of tears, but it was still afternoon, and the sun had only begun to lean towards the horizon. Now weak and practically lifeless myself, Erik scooped me up like an infant and took me to the carriage. I offered no resistance; I wanted to go back. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to take the bitter tonic Erik had given me before and have my senses numbed entirely.

We did not speak on the way home, and I could not remember anything about the journey back, like I had been asleep during it. But I had been painfully awake.

Once the carriage stopped, Erik supported my arm and helped me inside the house, onto the sofa in the drawing room. He told me something I quickly forgot, and perhaps he kissed the top of my head, I couldn't remember. But all I knew was that I was alone.

I curled up on the sofa, staring out the window at the slow trickle of people going down the street.

"Give me a reason to live," I prayed in a whisper. "I can't just live for Erik anymore. Give me a reason... Please, would you answer me now? I've lost everyone... almost everyone. Give me a reason..."

Silence.

I realized Erik was beside me, and he placed a hand to my head, told me something, and helped me up. I followed him mindlessly to my bedroom, and there he instructed me to remain. I fell upon my bed and felt just the act of breathing was exhausting.

As I glanced at the door, I found he had shut it, and likely locked it. I turned to the window instead, driven to it. The sky was blank, a deep blue, and the moon a thin lopsided smile. I looked down upon the garden.

It was finished now. There was a white swing between two bushes, a stone paved path, and a ceramic birdbath near the end. In neat little rows were sprouts of some sort of flowers, and surrounding everything were lilac bushes. There was also a little tree was near the back, with white flowers coating its branches.

I pressed my hand against the glass, then crept over to the door. I suddenly realized how much my body ached, probably from being dropped earlier.

Oh, I had never apologized to Erik for hitting him... What horrible creature was I to hit him? He must have been out of his mind with fear for me. How mad had I been? How panicked? He had grabbed and restrained me as if I was going to harm myself or run off... Would I have?

Poor Erik...

To my surprise, the door was unlocked. I stepped out into the hallway and followed the distant sound of sobs issuing from Erik's bedroom. There was no fear in me as I opened his door and stepped inside, coming over to him with my hands in my lap and my eyes glassy.

He was on the edge of his bed, sobbing, and looked up at me in surprise as I entered. I lied down on his bed and set my head in his lap.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, shutting my eyes.

He was silent, trembling ever so slightly.

"You should go to bed," he told me, his voice ragged from tears.

"I don't want to be alone."

"You shouldn't sleep in here-"

"I don't want to be alone," I pleaded weakly.

"Okay, okay, my dear, then I'll come into your room. Let's go into your room, and you can get your nightgown on, then I'll come in and you won't be alone... Is that good, my love?"

I nodded blankly, rising with all my remaining energy and shuffling off to my room. After dressing, I opened my door to him, and lied down on the bed. He stared at the spot beside me for a moment before finally slipping under the covers beside me. I started to cry again, and nuzzled into his bony chest. We were both silent, Erik perhaps in shock from being in such an intimate situation, myself too fatigued to properly weep.

I felt him pat my head in a poor attempt at comfort.

"It'll be better tomorrow," he told me softly. "We can do whatever you want tomorrow."

I fell asleep.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **How the tables have turned. Who's mad now? Will Christine's prayers be answered?**

 **And round of applause for Erik for doing so well with this. Like, seriously. He was so scared of her harming herself in her panic at the grave, poor guy, taking a (well-deserved) slap to the face and not holding it against her. Probably thought he deserved it, but anyway.**


	38. Chapter 38: Contemplation

Erik was wrapped about me when I woke up, his head on my chest, the gaping hole where his nose was, separated only by the fabric of my nightgown. I should have been repulsed, but for some reason I didn't truly care. I felt rather numb to it.

I gently removed myself from him and went to wash my face, then I heard him turn over and gasp, sliding to his feet. He turned to me, his parchment skin turning pink with shame. The poor man...

"Thank you for staying with me," I told him softly, patting my face with a towel.

"Only because you were unwell," he replied, speaking to himself as much as I. "Not again, just because you were unwell. Poor Christine, wanting Erik for company."

"I want to go out into the garden," I said to change the subject.

He looked over at me, "You do?"

"Yes. I need to dress first."

"I'll leave, then."

I nodded, "Could you make breakfast?"

"Of course, my dear, do you want porridge again?"

"Yes, please."

He went over to the door.

"Wait," I told him. "I want a kiss."

"Oh..."

He came back over to me and planted a swift kiss on my forehead, then left, seeming confused about whether he should be happy or not. I heard his footsteps going down the stairs, and he seemed to have a small spring in his step, or perhaps I was imagining that.

I put on the lilac dress for him, but curled my hair and left it down in gold ringlets, as I had as a chorus girl. My pallor had not a trace of color to be found, and I wondered how Erik could find beauty in a ghost.

I put on thick stockings for my feet, which only had a dull soreness to them now. My body was covered in some sparse bruises from yesterday, but I felt no pain from them unless I pressed them in with my fingers, even though they looked horrible.

Once ready, I went downstairs and found Erik happily setting the table for one, and he pulled out my chair for me, but I requested to eat in the garden. Delighted at this, he took my bowl of porridge outside and had me sit on the swing. There was a spring breeze in the air, which carried the scent of the city, but was also perfumed with flowers, and it made the swing sway. I ate half of my breakfast, then set my forehead upon the side of the swing, shutting my eyes for a moment while Erik took my bowl inside.

I needed forever to think over what I was considering. How simple would it be to convince him? Or should I be deceitful about it?

But how could I manage it without wanting to die?

"Are you tired, my little Christine?" Erik asked me. "May I sit with you?"

I nodded, and he placed himself as far away from me as he could on the swing. Then I turned to him in confusion.

"Do you know where Blå is?" I asked.

"No." He replied. "Perhaps he ran away."

"Of course he did..."

On cue, a mew came from the bushes, and the blue-gray cat strutted over to the birdbath, concealed under it, waiting patiently. I had thought Erik had gotten rid of him.

"Could you feed him?" I asked gently.

"Of course."

He went back inside, and I rose to stroll about the garden. I was like a child with it, going about and plucking flowers for my hair or smiling weakly at the clouds above me. It was such a pretty world. How odd that there could be such beauty when I felt so much pain.

Erik came out with a bowl of cream and some dried fish for Blå, who feigned indifference at first, then as soon as Erik had returned to my side, began devouring his meal. I looked over at Erik, knowing I had many questions to pose.

"You asked me if I wanted to be a mother yesterday," I said quietly.

"I did." He replied.

"Why?"

"I've been thinking about it often."

"Do you pity me?"

"Women should be mothers." He said sadly. "But Erik can never give you a child..."

"Why not?"

He turned to me in disbelief, "Erik? G-give you a _child_? He is already so cruel, and you would have him do such a thing? The most horrible thing he could ever do? He would ruin two lives: yours and the poor child's. It could have his face, and you... you would not be pure anymore... I don't want to discuss this anymore, just let's sit. It's so lovely out here."

I set my forehead back on the side of the swing, disappointed. To be honest, I didn't believe there was that great a likelihood that child _would_ look like him. If Erik had been born to normal parents, who had no similarity to him, then why should his child not be normal?

But I was not a geneticist. I was just a very desperate woman.

"The garden is lovely," I told him.

"You do like it, then?"

"It's such a lovely gift."

He was pleased with himself, "Do you want anything else added to it?"

"It's fine how it is."

"Good..." he nearly smiled. "It's nice to not have to wear a mask outside. The fences are so high no one can see... You're so brave to look at Erik without his mask. Sometimes he forgets his hideousness."

"Sometimes I forget. It doesn't bother me so much anymore."

Oh, it would bother me as long as I lived, but that was not a complete lie. It did not bother me as it had before.

He started to cry, and I let him sob into my skirts. I even placed my hand on his back a little.

"I love you..." he told me. "D-don't ever leave."

"I can't leave."

"Yes... yes, you can't. I'm not alone."

"Me neither."

"It was terrible to be alone," he moaned, twisting the fabric of my skirt. "Erik has never been with someone, and not someone who is kind to him, and brave, and so soft and pretty... You don't understand how much I love you. I wish... I wish I could give you whatever you wanted."

Then he was pensive for a moment, and he sat up from my lap.

"Is there anything you want that I can give you?" He asked.

"Nothing I can think of," I sighed.

He looked down at his lap, "You don't smile normally; it's pained. And you're still not well. Your eyes aren't bright, and you're pale. Very pale."

"Don't remind me of yesterday," I pleaded. "I'm done crying. I don't want to anymore."

"No, no, my love, forgive Erik, he didn't mean to bring it up. He wants to forget, too."

I nodded.

"Do you want to go anywhere?" He asked.

"Here is fine. It's peaceful."

"Yes. You'll be well soon if you stay out here enough... I could bring out chocolates for you."

"I'm not hungry," I replied.

We remained sitting there for the morning, and after I ate a bit of lunch, I decided to take a nap in my room. Erik told me he was going to work now, and that he trusted me to remain, as I had no one to see. This confused me a little, because there was still the Persian. I could see him... Unless...

Oh, I hadn't even given a thought to him! Had Erik killed him? Had I caused him to die just to see maman?

"What's wrong?" Erik pleaded, coming over to where I trembled on the bed.

"Don't be upset," I trembled out.

"Of course not, my love, what's wrong?"

"Don't yell at me."

"Never. Tell me what the matter is?"

"D-did you kill him?"

"Who?"

"Don't be upset," I sobbed.

"Why do you tremble so? Are you cold? Poor thing, who are you talking about?"

"The P-Persian."

"Erik doesn't kill people," he told me, patting my head. "Don't worry about the Persian man-"

"Where is he?"

"Don't worry about him!" He exclaimed, then he turned away, disgusted at himself for scaring me. "Erik didn't mean to yell... Don't talk about that man. It upsets Erik, for he hates the daroga, who followed him around and whom the siren refused to kill twice. She must not like Persians..."

"Okay," I told him, nodding and trying to believe him. "I'm going to sleep now, then."

"I'll bring you back something to cheer you up," he informed me.

I nodded again, but I really didn't need more chocolates.

For a while I simply stared at the translucent curtains around my bed, then I would drift into sleep, awaken, drift away again, and that would repeat. I didn't cry, thankfully, but I sang to myself at one point, for it was so terribly quiet. I wanted Erik to play his harp for me, which was still in the corner.

I realized I was hungry, so I shuffled downstairs to make myself some tea and have some bread as cheese. Then I realized Erik would not have the knives where I could find them, so I had to tear apart the bread with my hands, as well as the cheese.

I sat down on the sofa, eating slowly as one does when pensive and miserable. I tasted not a bit of it, so confused was I still about what I thought of, what I was considering.

That was when there came a knock at the door, and I turned to it, thinking I must have gone mad and was hearing things. I returned to my bread and cheese, then heard the knock again. I crept over to the door, wary, and found the Persian's servant outside, waiting on the doorstep.

I watched him knock a third time, then he gave up and put a note under the door. I hastened to read it, and sat down upon the sofa, opening up the white parchment to see what it held for me.

"Madame Christine Daaé,

I have been unable to visit you on account of being nearly drowned by Erik when I delayed him. But do not concern yourself with that, for I am nearly recovered due to Darius's efforts.

My condolences to you for the loss of your mother. She was a fine woman, selfless and concerned for you. I know Erik ought to be of no comfort to you at the moment. You must be in a very poor state, so take care not to do anything rash. When I am well, I will visit you. I wish you peace, child.

And to add, Erik is wealthy, as you know, for reasons I will not say, but not from murders. I assume it would make him more tolerable if you asked for a good many things for him to purchase for you.

Sincerely,

Monsieur Nadir Khan"

I read the note twice, then tore it to tiny pieces and scattered it about the garden, under the bushes, for I did not know where matches were.

 _Don't do anything rash..._

Oh, Monsieur Nadir, you don't understand how rash of a thing I'm contemplating...

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Just fyi, there will be no detailed description if Christine goes through with this. The only reason this fic is rated T is for the suicide stuff and mentions of more mature stuff.**

 **Apologies if you wanted to read that. And it's still IF she goes through with it.**


	39. Chapter 39: Night

I would have been bored, had I not simply wanted to do nothing. Well, not nothing, I sat on the garden swing all morning. Sometimes the breeze pushed it along as I lied down, sometimes I sat and used my feet, and other times I was still. But I was very content with it, for it gave me time to think. I needed to think.

It really didn't seem like life would be so terrible at all, in the common sense. I was loved (in a way) and I had fine possessions, a garden, a nice house, and I received more things by the day, as I followed the Persian's surprisingly useful advice. But life would be boring and meaningless. I suppose it would not be meaningless to Erik, and it shouldn't be to me either, but I feared that it would become so.

But I had a yearning in my heart that I could tell would never subside. I knew what I had to do to fill it, I knew of the horrible repercussions, but I didn't... I didn't really care. I had never felt that way about something before. I didn't care what happened so long as I got what I wanted.

We fell into a routine over the next few weeks, with Erik "going to work" after lunch and I spending the afternoon in the garden. In the evenings, we went where I requested, and on Sunday, we spent most of the day in the park. It was sad for me, because I could not speak to anyone. I had no friends to see, no one but Erik. But because of my loneliness, I let him hold me and kiss my hand as he pleased, so he was content.

How I longed for a friend...

I had made up my mind at last, after careless thinking and nights spent crying quietly, my heart barren. I had a plan and was determined to follow it through. I had to.

When Erik returned that evening, I feigned cheerfulness and went on and on about how lovely the garden was to sit in all day long, and how delicious the chocolates he had bought were, and anything of that nature. He was so delighted by my mood that perhaps he didn't realize how peculiar it was, for I had still been melancholy for the past few weeks.

Then, with pity, I realized he must not care about logic. He just wanted kindness was all, kindness and my happiness... He was so desperate for those.

After we had had dinner, I asked him to play the violin, the harp, and I sang many a duet with him, accompanied by the piano. He was becoming skeptical of my change in mood, and the fact that I was raising no objection to being kissed or touched, that every once and a while his eye caught mine in confusion. But I smiled prettily when I noticed this, and his expression melted away. The poor man loved me so much...

"Another?" He asked hopefully as we finished our third duet.

"Yes, but, um..." I said softly, nervously. "May I ask you a question?"

"Anything, my little Christine."

"It's rather out of place. I've just been thinking about it today... a lot."

"What is it?"

I fidgeted with my hands, then took a breath to calm myself, "Does it ever... bother you?"

His hideous features rose in amusement, "What? You need to be less vague, does what bother me?"

"That our marriage... isn't real?"

His face fell, and he averted his eyes, "It's real enough."

"Well, I... I'm not alright with it at all."

"What do you mean?"

"You told me you wanted a normal life, a normal marriage, but you don't have one... We aren't truly married."

His eyes filled with sorrow as he looked over at me, "Please explain what you mean more clearly."

"We haven't..." I hid my grimace, "consummated it."

"And you regret this?" He asked, his voice faint.

"It's not right of me to have not... I've been such a terrible wife, and I want to be normal now. And this way, it'll be real, like you want, and you'll be just like any other husband. Just like you told me you've always wanted."

"I don't understand you, my dear. Why would you want that?"

"Because I can't bear living a lie."

"Would you rather be living a terrible truth?" He offered bitterly. "And don't you know... don't you know that makes you _mine?_ That's why... That's why I thought you would never... Because you want to be yours... And Erik..."

He fell to his knees in front of me, wringing his hands, and exclaimed pitifully, "Oh, my sweet little Christine, my wife, Erik is wicked! He thinks about it every night, he thinks about how wonderful it would be. He wants you as his! Not the way another man does, he simply wants to have you for his own, for he has never had someone for his own... He only thinks, but that is nearly as terrible as the crime itself! He wants you to be his, because he loves you and wants you to always be with him and never leave! And he thought the marriage would be enough, but you are still not his... And you can't be... You can never be h-his..."

"Erik, if I did want to be... if I did want that, would you let me?"

He refused to look up at me in his shame, "My little Christine... it does not matter, for you would never want that..."

I went on my knees with him, and extended my hands to his face. His eyes were wide, then as he must have thought I was going to kiss him, they shut, and he trembled a little in timid anticipation and confusion. He savored the touch of my hands, and he waited patiently, blissfully unaware.

And I... I kissed him. Kissed him properly, like with Raoul all those many months ago. Erik's lips were cold and thin, and salty with tears. They did not react to mine, but were limp, and as I drew away, I realized his eyes were wide open with what seemed to be fear. His eyes, his horrible eyes that rested in two black abysses, were filled with pure terror.

He pulled away from me slowly, shocked, and raised a trembling hand to his lips, brushing over them.

"You... you k-kissed..." he said breathlessly, still brushing over his lips in wonder, "Erik... you kissed... E-Erik... like you... l-loved him."

Then something strange, and a little frightening, lit in his eyes.

"W-would you kiss Erik... forgive him, but would you kiss him like that... again? It felt... it felt different than the other kisses."

And he went towards me, which turned my heart to ice, for he always waited for me to accept him, always watched for my approval. But I could not tell if he would wait this time or not, and I saw confusion in his eyes, confusion and something else...

"Forgive me!" I cried, fleeing upstairs to my room.

I slammed the door, my breathing heavy. My entire body quaked and throbbed with my loud heartbeats, and as I tried desperately to regain my composure, I pushed a chair up against the door, then pressed my palms to my forehead as I began to sob. I collapsed upon my bed in tears, feeling wretched for what I had done. He had hoped... that was what I had seen, hope. Suppressed for so long, and I was letting him...

And now I couldn't even think of how horrible he must feel. How tormented.

As I wept, I despaired that I must have thrown away my chance. I was not brave enough yet, though I was desperate enough. I felt desperate enough.

But as my tears subsided, something hardened within me. I couldn't tell what, but I managed to go down to Erik again, drag myself down those hardwood stairs. He was in disarray, a miserable wreck, self-deprecating and cursing himself in various languages. I honestly thought he had gone mad again.

He turned to me and shied away in terror, then crawled to my skirts, begging for forgiveness, nearly incoherent.

"I... didn't come to forgive you." I whispered, interrupting. "I wanted to give you the second kiss you asked for."

"Erik doesn't deserve a second kiss-"

"But you want one."

He looked up at me, pained, "Why do you torment your poor Erik?"

"I have no intention to torment you," I said softly. "Please do this for me."

"Why? Why do you want this, my brave little Christine?"

"Because... because I..."

"Want a child..." he finished quietly, averting his eyes. "And Erik knew this, but he didn't care... He didn't care... Why didn't he care?"

"Because you love me... I'll be in my room. And I... I don't care either."

I extended my hands to his face, and he melted into the kiss.

I tried to forget what happened next. I tried for days, and perhaps I was in shock, for I did not fully remember the following days. For a while, I didn't feel well, and Erik tended to me. Every night I woke up panicked, covered in cold sweat, from the same nightmare, the same memory, twisted terribly. But Erik was in his bed now, and I in mine.

And I prayed that it would remain that way.

Erik reacted differently than I had expected. He became rather ghost-like, and devoted all his time to doing anything I wanted. There was no selfish request made for the days I was ill, but there were many apologies, far too many. There were gifts and flowers and even a new kitten, a little ginger one.

And to keep him from going mad with self-hate, I lied blatantly to him that it had not been one of the most horrific things I had ever experienced.

But I wanted to know if I had succeeded, or if my actions had led to nothing. For it was this that I feared, that the pain and shame of it all had been worthless. That I would have to do the horrid thing again, because I couldn't do it again. I couldn't...

As I became better, I realized what a great change Erik had undergone from it. I had not understood the full extent of what it had meant to him. It was total and complete acceptance. It was normalcy. It was trust. And instead of tainting me, as he had feared, instead it had lifted me up onto a higher pedestal. He was my servant, my devoted slave, to an even greater extent than he had been beneath the opera house on my very first days.

But then, as I went downstairs when I was more recovered physically, he asked me the question that hurt him the most. However, it was different than before.

He referred to himself as "me."

"Do you love me?" He asked quietly, barely daring to hope.

"Yes..." I lied. "Yes, Erik... I love you."

"As a husband?"

"As... as a husband."

By the end of the month I had my first sign that it had not been in vain.


	40. Chapter 40: Ninety Days

I tallied the days in a journal, and soon they numbered fifty-two. I needed ninety to be certain- three months time at least. But I wanted to see a physical change in myself. I wanted to _know._

Erik had seemed surprisingly well for a while, then he began to avoid me and shut himself in his room. At first I had thought he was finally upset about taking "my purity," but as the days went by, as I listened to his mad ramblings and sobs, I realized that was not why at all. He knew that I had hated conceiving the child, no matter what I said, and he had not. He was ashamed of this, that he had not despised it as I had, and ashamed that he had wanted me, because he thought it was wrong for him to. A man like him should repress that, and he had, and been very content with it, it seemed, until it was offered to him. He must have thought that would never happen...

But when outside of his room, he kept asking about the child. I learned so much of his pitiful excuse for a childhood from his questions mingled with his reminiscing. Most of the time it seemed he had been up in an attic, forbidden to be seen or heard. He had never touched his mother that he could remember, for whenever he had attempted, she had slapped and chastised him. So instead, he had turned to clinging to her skirts for some comfort, some attention, and even that was frequently rejected from him. His mother had allowed him education, but barely, and he had had to mostly teach himself. He could not remember her giving him a kind word, and he actually thought that the kindest thing she had done was give him his mask, for it had freed him from the sight and feeling of his hideous face. Then he had run away from her one day after she had said to him, to her own child, that she despised him, and that if he tried to touch her again, she would shut him away with a mirror and no mask.

He was nine, he told me. Nine years old...

And he feared that I would do the same, that having a baby that looked like him would ruin me. It didn't matter how kind I was now; I would not be later. And it broke my heart to see him thinking such terrible things, for I was full of hope. I was almost happy again. And my nausea had subsided significantly, as well as my soreness. In fact, I hadn't felt unwell at all really, not for the past couple of days.

He, however, was utterly miserable.

I didn't know what to do about him. Whenever I tried to reassure him, he thought I was lying to him, or too naive to understand, so all of the words that came out of my mouth were useless. I tried kisses, but the ones that I gave him were chaste, and when I saw his eyes wander to my lips, he would tear himself away in shame and shut himself up again, or go to work. Anything I did seemed pointless.

It was late morning, and I was rather lonely again, rubbing my stomach as I had started to do, though there was no change. Erik was still in bed, or at least, in his room, probably crying. Sometimes he played the violin, but I couldn't hear that now.

I knew I ought to go try to coax him out of there, but at the same time I feared it wouldn't change a thing. And I had no desire to be cried over and told I would become cruel to the child if it looked like him.

But I felt cruel _now_. It would have been best had I just let us be normal, and not let my desire for a child consume me. I felt wicked and deceitful, for I was both of those things, and I longed to make amends. I wished... I wished I could give him it again, not for any gain, just for him. For the time of it, it seemed he had forgotten he was deformed. He had forgotten everything save that he loved me, and he had tried his best, he had tried so hard, but it had still been miserable for me. And even though I wished I could give him it again, for he so desperately wanted to forget his face and his pain, I was still too disgusted by the act, and so frightened. And I would have simply given him a kiss on his lips to make amends for my cruelty, but I feared that he would be expectant if I did such a thing.

When the baby was born it would be better. When the baby was born everything would be happier.

If the baby was born...

"Erik?" I said softly, knocking on his door.

It took a moment before I heard his footsteps come over to the door, and he opened it only enough for me to see his face. He was wearing his black mask for some reason, and he wouldn't look me in the eyes, instead preferring the floorboards.

"What do you need?" He asked, quiet, his eyes still averted.

"Dear, why do you lock yourself up here, when you know I don't like to be alone, and neither do you?... And why do you wear your mask?"

"You don't need anything, then?"

"I need you to remove your mask."

He fidgeted with his fingertips, "No... I dont want to deny you anything, I don't deserve to deny you, but... but Erik should wear a mask."

"Give it to me, please," I told him, extending my hands out.

He started to cry.

"Go away!" He sobbed. "Go away, my Christine, Erik is hideous and he shouldn't be allowed to touch you or even be seen by you, like his mother! Go away, please..."

"But I want to see you."

He gave a sob, "Why must you lie to me? You don't want to see Erik, you've never wanted to, and even in the d-dark, you shut your eyes then, you shut them that night, in the d-dark... And I didn't shut mine..."

"I love you. I told you before; I love you. I do want to see you-"

"Why did you cry?" He asked softly.

"What? Cry when?"

"After... A-after it, when I left, because you said you wanted to be alone and I wanted to give you everything you ever wanted, I... I pressed my ear up against your door, for I didn't believe... I didn't believe you when you said it was nice... And I heard you crying for yourself, crying because Erik had... wanted you. And Erik hoped... he hoped you wouldn't have a child, so he could be with you again. How wicked he is! No one had ever touched him before, not gently, and he knew nothing of what it would be like, how warm and soft it would be to have you against him... And you were trembling, but he lied to himself, he thought you were excited... He lied instead of running away and sparing you. How horrible he is! How can you say you love him when he has done such a terrible thing? But... but at least it was only once, and you are with child now, so he can't touch you now... Not again..."

"Erik..." I said sorrowfully. "Erik, I'm the horrible one."

"No, no, you are brave and kind and-"

"I manipulated you. I lied to you. I didn't tell you the truth, that all I wanted was a baby. And you didn't reject my lies, so how are you horrible, for giving me what I wanted, when I had lied so blatantly? I... I should be wearing that mask."

He fell to his knees, clinging to the hem of my dress, "But Erik wanted you... he shouldn't have wanted you..."

"Why not?"

"My mother..." he said pitifully, "when I asked about babies, as a boy, like a normal child, she said... she said it was wicked of me, and that I could never have a baby, so it didn't matter..."

"Just let me take your mask. Please, Erik, I'm not worthy of asking you to keep it on... Will you forgive me?"

"No... no, I don't have to. You have nothing to be forgiven for-"

"I don't care if you don't mean it, please just tell me it... Please, I can't bear what I've done, like you can't. I've done it all along, haven't I? I'm just like your mother, though you don't think it, I am!"

He shook his head, a few tears trickling out from under his mask, "Don't say such things. You don't know what you mean... You don't need forgiveness, only Erik."

As he bent his head down again in shame, I tore off his mask. He cried out in confusion, and I hurled it over the stair railing, at the far wall, hoping it would shatter. We both watched it hit the wall with a "thump," then fall to the floor... _intact._

"I hate that thing!" I cried. "Erik, I wish I had been your mother, and I would have given you a proper gift- and some affection!"

I collapsed, burying my head in my hands as I wept. I wept for his cruel mother who ruined him. I wept for his face that continued to fill me with horror even after all this time. I wept for the possible child inside me, that it could be cursed to look like him, and have him for a father. Oh, why couldn't Erik have just been _loved?_

"Christine..." he said softly, crawling closer to me with caution. "Are you alright? You yelled... you don't yell a lot... Did I upset you?"

"No... No, not you..." I replied. "Would you get rid of that mask? I want it burned; I want it gone... I want it... g-gone."

I felt his hand against my forehead, and I was surprised for a moment that he had been willing to touch me, then I realized he was checking my temperature.

"You're not ill..." he whispered. "I'll get rid of the mask for you, if you truly despise it so. I can't bear your unhappiness..."

He went downstairs, and I calmed myself as I watched him through the bars of the railing. He picked up the mask, twirled it in his hands a moment, then took it away into the kitchen, I assumed to burn it. I hoped he was burning it...

When he came back, I told him I was exhausted and wanted tea and a nap. He was only too happy to tend to my wants, and to forget our conversation.

I undressed a bit to be more comfortable, and slipped under my bedsheets. Erik had sent everything to a laundress, and they had been freshly washed, so I sighed and relaxed a little. I was glad that we had done it in his room and not mine, or else I feared I would never be able to sleep well again.

He came up with a small vase of freshly-picked lilacs, as well as a steaming cup of tea, and I asked for a kiss, on my forehead, before I took my nap. Only after I had insisted that I wanted it, he obliged. As he turned to leave, however, I asked if he would sing me to sleep.

His hideous features softened, "You want me to?"

"I would ask for the harp, but it's downstairs, and I don't want to-"

"No, no, I'll get it for you, don't worry. Anything you want, my sweet little Christine... Anything..."

He left to fetch it, and I turned over in bed, feeling my stomach. Still no sign of anything. Was there supposed to be one yet? How long did it take until I would be able to feel my child?

My child...

I smiled weakly. I was going to have a baby...

Erik returned with the harp, which he set in the corner. But before he played, he looked at me strangely, and asked, "Is your nausea gone now?"

"For a couple days, yes. Maybe I've passed that point now. What a relief."

"Perhaps... What piece do you want?"

"You know better than I." I said kindly, sitting upright and picking up my cup of tea. "Something sweet and beautiful."

And he began to play.


	41. Chapter 41: The Cradle

I woke up with a throbbing headache, and my abdomen was tight. As I sat upright I realized the lower part of my back was sore as well, and I rubbed it, wincing a little.

Then I gasped, hastening to look beneath myself, but there was nothing.

As I breathed a sigh of relief, I turned to my window, and my eyes widened. I slipped to the floor, my stockings muffling my steps, and in a sort of daze, approached what lay beneath the window, bathed in sunlight.

 _A cradle._

I ran my hand along the edges, feeling the white-painted wood. The cradle curled up in the corners, into little swirls, but it was simple. Inside it was a soft mattress, which I felt with my hand as well, and atop this, a blue knitted blanket.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I let go of this. I had to go find Erik.

Why had he not been waiting for me to get up? He always wanted to see my reaction to his gifts, though this was a different gift than the others. This was... strange of him. Strange that he had thought of it, first of all, and more strange that he was not around, waiting to be praised.

I went downstairs to find him, and also to have him make me something for my pain, which the cradle had made me forget for a moment. He was, however, nowhere to be found, and I sighed irritably at this. I shuffled back upstairs, simply praying that I wouldn't get any worse, for I wouldn't be able to stand nausea on top of all this. Upon entering his room, I found him absent from there, too.

I remained in there for a moment, though, looking about it in pity. The entire place was a wreck, with random sheet music strewn everywhere, the desk overturned, and the bedsheets were twisted and hanging off the side. I wanted to clean it for him, but realized that could do more harm than good, letting him know I had been messing with his things. And also, I was still feeling rather ill.

As I turned to leave leave, something caught my eye. There was a small circular object covered by a little curtain on his dresser, next to the violin, which was curiously sitting out. He always kept it in a case, took great care with it, and it was just sitting there. The bow, of course, had been loosened so it wouldn't snap, but other than that... It just surprised me, was all. But the curtained object was what I had the intent of discovering.

I removed the cover and found beneath it a little mirror. I took it in both my hands, staring at myself for a moment, examining my own sorrowful expression. To my surprise, my cheeks were rosy again, but at this, my features only fell further. It must be difficult for Erik to think me so beautiful, then see himself in that mirror, and feel... feel so hideous, and from there unworthy and horrible.

"Oh, Erik, why do you have this?" I whispered, near tears. "Why must you torment yourself?"

I thought to take it away. And that would have been the logical thing to do, but instead I took it into my room and shut the door. I pulled out a piece of paper, cut it into the oval shape of the mirror, then thought of what to write. A simple "I love you" would suffice, but... I didn't want that. I wanted something that he could keep and read over, and over. Something to make him forget his face.

I wrote it like a letter, in the prettiest penmanship I could manage. I had thought to address it to "my dear Erik," but then decided he would prefer "my dear husband." Perhaps I was being foolish, encouraging the lie that I loved him. But my mind had been so mangled up through everything, through being kidnapped, tormented, and forced to marry him, to mourning my mother, and now to carrying his child. It was strange that I had any coherence at all. I knew I ought to be a little bit mad by now, but perhaps that eased the pain of it all on my heart.

But I wrote the letter from my heart, from what I felt, because, in a strange way, I did love him. There were things about him that I loved, that I had always loved. His music, for one, and how he so desperately wanted to be kind to me. Then there were things I had only noticed of late that were far less selfish than before, such as the cradle.

If I loved him, though, it was because he was all I had. Sometimes I wondered about what life would be like with him dead, and at first it had not seemed so terrible at all, but with maman gone... With maman gone I had no one but him. The Persian was an acquaintance, an ally, not a close friend. So Erik was all I was left with, the only one who loved me.

So I wrote many notes, but all of them I crumpled up and threw away, and rather vehemently, for my head was still throbbing. None seemed right. I wanted something special for Erik, that showed what I thought, but I couldn't convey my thoughts, for they didn't even make sense to _me._

In the end, I wrote this:

"My dear husband,

I love you.

Your wife,

Christine."

And even though it was simple, and what I had originally decided not to say, it was perfect in its simplicity. I tied it to the mirror with white thread, and I wished I had some way to be rid of the mirror entirely. But I wanted this instead, so that when he tried to torment himself, or whatever he did, he would see the note and cease.

If only he couldn't remove it...

I heard the front door open, and I hastened to put the mirror back in his room and cover it with the red curtain. His footsteps were just beginning to come up the stairs when I rushed out of his room and into my room, collapsing upon my bed. For a moment I shut my eyes as my stomach cramped, then I blinked up at the ceiling.

Erik came into my room quietly, perhaps thinking I was asleep. I sat upright and realized he had three books clutched in his arms, thin ones in pastel colors. He noticed I was awake, and set them beside me.

"Do you like the cradle?" He asked, sounding rather fearful I wouldn't.

I smiled gently, "I love it. Thank you so much... But Erik, could you make me a tonic or something? My head hurts horribly."

"Of course."

He turned to leave, and I examined the books, thinking they would be novels. But they were for expectant mothers, almost pamphlets, really, about anything I would have need of. I opened one to read, and I was especially interested so see what the symptoms were, if mine were abnormal. Was I falling ill, or was it due to the baby?

It really only listed nausea, and mentioned spotting, which had happened a couple weeks ago and concerned me, but not happened since. And the nausea had faded. But for the first three months, it said that should remain, then leave for the next three, then return.

My stomach churned with worry, and cramped again. I sighed and rested against the headboard of my bed, blinking at the far wall.

Erik came in with a cup of tonic, or tea, whatever he had made. As I drank it, he picked up the book I had read and looked at the page I had turned to, his features tense with thought.

"Have they made you worry less?" He asked.

"Worry?" I said. "How do you know I'm worrying?"

"I assumed..."

I frowned, "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what? Hideous?"

"No, Erik, sad. You look sad and concerned."

"You told me your nausea went away yesterday," he said curiously.

"A few days before that, but yes."

"How many days has it been, total?"

"Fifty-two."

"Fifty-two... so it's certain, then? You have symptoms and everything?"

"Well, yes. I never skip my... my, um, time."

"Time?" He inquired. "What time?"

"Of the month."

"Oh, that. So yes, it's definite?"

"Well... I mean, it might not be. I suppose I could have skipped one. I did that one time when I wouldn't eat."

"But you've been eating now."

"Yes. I have."

"So it's definite."

"I- yes, Erik. It is."

He nodded, then glanced over at the window, "Do you like the cradle?"

"You already asked me that. I love it."

His features brightened, "I brought it here while you slept. I bought it, then the books."

"It's wonderful."

He went over to it, staring for a moment, then turned to me, "Has your head stopped hurting?"

"Somewhat."

"Good... Do you need anything?"

"I'm actually rather hungry. I think I forgot to eat lunch."

He tensed, "Forgot? Erik forgot to feed you?"

"I'm twenty years old, Erik, not two. You don't need to worry about feeding me. I forgot to make myself lunch."

"But he let you take a long nap," he said tearfully. "And that's how you forgot."

"I enjoyed the nap... But I would love it if you made me lunch." I offered, trying to keep him from dissolving into tears.

"Anything," he said, relieved. "What would you like?"

"Potato soup, if that's fine?"

"Of course, let me make it. Read your books, my dear, I'll be back in a little while."

He turned to leave, but I stopped him, "Wait, dear... How long has it been since I kissed you?"

"Weeks."

"Surely... surely not weeks?"

"You let Erik kiss you more than you kiss him." He said simply. "But it's fine that you don't kiss him-"

"Let me give you two, then. One from the baby and one from me."

It almost seemed he would refuse, but he came over to me and allowed me to kiss his forehead and cheek, then he cried for a moment into my lap before going downstairs to make my soup. I sighed, brushing my hands over my stomach.

"I know you must be there," I said to the child inside me. "It only makes sense that you would be, after all this."

Silence.

The rest of the day passed without incident, though I still felt rather unwell. Erik played the harp for me to sleep again, but I tossed and turned all night long with nightmares I forgot upon waking, breathless and shivering. I did remember one, however, upon waking in the morning, but it was incredibly strange and not really frightening. I had given birth to a kitten in the dream, who was one of the hairless cats, and Erik tried to get rid of it, but I cried because it was my child, even though it was hideous.

Strange how that had been a nightmare, when it was so ludicrous. How had I been so frightened at the time of it, and now it was laughable?


	42. Chapter 42: A Gray Garden

As I rose the next morning, I realized that my headache was gone, thankfully, but my cramps were still present. I turned to make my bed, then screamed for Erik, petrified by what I had seen.

No... no... how had I not realized?!

"Erik!" I screamed again, at a loss.

He ran in, coming over to me in concern.

"What?" He cried, his hands outstretched to hold my face, but not touching it. "What's wrong? What's-?"

His eyes found the red spot on the bedsheets, and his thin lips parted, almost in slow motion. He went over to the bed while I sobbed in panic.

"You lost it," he said quietly, as if he did not comprehend. "You must have lost it."

I hugged myself, still choking on my own sobs, and he extended his arms to comfort me, perhaps thinking I wouldn't take them. But I did, and I held him as he did me. I clutched him desperately, to fill the emptiness that had already begun to envelop me. He did not cry as I was; he cried silently, so that the only sign was a wet spot on my shoulder.

"Erik..." I sobbed, clinging to him. "Erik, I lost it... I lost it... I... I know I was... I know I was... but I l-lost it... The nausea... w-went away... I should've known... w-when it went... a-away... I was h-happy about... it and... and it went a-away..."

He was motionless, perhaps because he did not know what to do. Then, as my panicking subsided into terrible sobs, he gently separated from me and began to tear off the bedsheets. While he did this, I tried desperately to regain myself, failing at each new attempt. He put new ones on the bed, then went to make a bath for me to clean myself off with. All his actions were like those of a ghost, or a machine.

He left me alone to bathe, and I was shaking all over as I cleaned myself off. The water was warm, but it could have been boiling and I would have felt nothing. I reeled at the sight of my own blood, even though I had seen it since I was fourteen years old, every month but two since I was fourteen years old. The nightgown was also stained with it, but that was beside the basin, out of sight.

I hoped that perhaps there had never been a child, that nothing had been lost, but... I had never had nausea like that, never felt like that, never... And yes, I was ill after the conception, but... that was due to shock, perhaps, as well as perhaps a bit of sickness from the start of the baby. I had been with child. I knew it.

It hurt very much. I was empty now, and I wanted Erik to be with me, to cure my loneliness. I finished my pitiful excuse for a bath with haste so that he could come back in. After opening the dresser drawer with my sanitary products, I shut it, having hoped not to have to use those again in eight more months. But I had to use them now, and I pulled open the drawer with distaste, my cheeks burning with tears. I then grabbed the lilac dress from my closet, that horrible thing, for it was fitting to wear on such a wretched day as this.

Once dressed, I wept quietly, not like earlier in frenzied panic. This was silent, soft, mournful. I had wrapped my arms about myself like a child and was sitting with my legs tucked under myself on the bed. I couldn't bring myself to look at the cradle, so I shut my eyes.

Erik knocked, but I did not answer. He knocked again, and I gave a weak "come in," to which he opened the door quietly. His eyes were soft with pain as he looked upon me, and it seemed he had been crying, too. The black recesses of his eyes were dewy, and his face had a dull shine to it. I assumed it was not because he was upset that the baby was gone that he had been crying, but because I was upset.

He did not come over to comfort me this time, but instead simply took away the basin. When he returned, my tears had run out, and I was staring blankly at the cradle, which lay in a shadow. There was no sunlight today, of course. There could be none today. There was a fog over the city, dense, and whatever sunlight did manage to bleed through was dull and gloomy.

"I wish..." I said softly, as Erik sat down at the edge of my bed. "I wish..."

"What, my dear?" Erik replied.

I turned to him, my face hard with tears, "I don't know what I wish."

"Another child?" He said miserably.

"I don't know..."

"Oh, my Christine!" He sobbed, burying his face in my stomach and wrapping his arms around me. "Erik shouldn't have done it... he shouldn't have done it... n-now you're crying... Oh, how you frightened me! I thought you had hurt yourself, or... Or something like that! I saw you crying, and I wanted to cry to, but then I saw... I saw your... b-blood... Oh, I couldn't bear it! I've only seen your blood a few times, and that was far too much! I didn't want to see it, so once you had calmed a little, I took it away, and I cried, and then I made you bathe, so it would be gone... But it wasn't the normal blood that you have, is it? You never cried before when... when you had these normally... Oh, my love, do you live now? I asked you before if you had died, when you promised to marry me, and you said you lived... Tell me you live now... Tell me..."

I nodded blankly, and said with equal emotion, "I live."

He sighed in relief, looking up at me, "Will this be like all the other times, when you recover after a few weeks?"

"I don't know," I whispered.

"You... you mean you may not?" He asked in concern.

"I feel... empty."

"But you should feel normal, since it's gone-"

"Please stop talking," I pleaded. "Please."

"Anything," he replied, extending his arms to me. I allowed him to hold me, desperate for comfort.

How long we remained there, I did not know. At one point, he asked if I wanted breakfast, and I replied with silence, so he asked me again if I was alive. I nodded, not making a sign. Eventually he carried me downstairs, then, perhaps confused and uncomprehending, he paced and yelled for a while, not at me, just at everything. My eyes were glassy, and my ears forgot every word he said. Sometimes I glanced up at him as he fumed and stormed about, and shouted at me, but mostly I stared at the wall just beyond him. Not out the window, at the wall. The window revealed a garden coated in gray mist, and would only make me cry tears I did not have.

At some point, he burnt out, and broke down, weeping and clinging to my skirts. I forgave him every time he asked for it, but even when I looked down, it was not at him. My vision was blurry, dazed, and I could not focus upon a thing.

When I asked for a kiss, wanting to appease him and be comforted, he fled from me, up the stairs, and I heard his bedroom door slam. I blinked over at the staircase in confusion a moment, then rubbed my abdomen, which was cramping again. I made a fist and rubbed harder until it hurt worse, perhaps trying to make myself cry, thinking it might help alleviate my emptiness.

But I could not cry more. I was devoid of tears, of emotion.

I thought to go upstairs, for I was lonely, terribly lonely, without the knowledge of the baby inside me. I needed Erik. I needed _someone._

There was the sound of something shattering upstairs, and I shut my eyes. He must have found the mirror. I had wanted that to be kind and beautiful, and now... now my gesture was ruined...

I heard his soft footsteps, slow and weary, coming down the stairs, and I turned to him weakly. He came over to me, the note clutched in his hands.

"I broke the mirror for you," he told me, trying to appease me, it seemed. "That's what you wanted? For it to be broken?"

I nodded.

"Do you love me now?" He pleaded.

I nodded. "Will you kiss me now?" I asked weakly.

"Yes, of course, forgive Erik, he didn't understand."

I nodded.

He kissed my forehead softly, his lips cool and surprisingly soft.

"May I hold you?" He asked.

I nodded.

He picked me up like an infant, and held me against his chest. I clutched at the lapels of his jacket numbly.

"You'll get better," he told me, to comfort me. "You'll get better, like you always do."

I nodded.

"And... and if you want another child, to cure your unhappiness, then you may have it... for I can't stand this... If you need one to be happy, you can have one. For you must be happy... you must be... I can't have you unhappy again, I can't..."

I nodded.

"Can you hear me?"

I nodded.

"Are... are you hungry at all now?"

I nodded.

"You aren't listening to me, then. You're never hungry like this..." he averted his eyes like he was going to cry, then he looked back up at me, his eyes lit up with an idea. "Music! Yes, you need music, that will fill your soul again! You said you felt empty. Come here, my Christine, my poor Christine."

He pulled me to my feet and brought me over to the piano, standing me up like a doll. I stared at him in pity as he placed a sheet of music in my hands, then, realizing I couldn't possibly sing now, he removed it. I was placed back upon the sofa, and he told me he would sing for me, and that would fill my emptiness that I had mentioned.

I nodded.

He played all day, without ceasing. I slipped away a few times, mechanically, to tend to myself, and I must have fallen asleep at one point, for it was suddenly night. He came over to me and asked if I was tired, as he seemed to have not noticed that I had ever been asleep, or had left.

I nodded.

He picked me up and carried me to my room, but I shook my head in his chest.

"Yours," I said softly, tears welling up in my eyes. "I don't want to be alone."

"I can sleep in here-"

"Yours," I pleaded, my voice hoarse.

"Okay, my love, if you insist, for you are so very upset... this will content you?"

"I'm so tired..."

He nodded.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Explanation: So, Christine had a missed miscarriage. Or she skipped her monthlies, take your pick, but I went with the former in writing and hints. Pregnancy symptoms cease during missed miscarriages (generally) and there's no sign of it besides that. So she gets her monthlies again (in a very bad way, too) and finds out, obv, she isn't pregnant anymore. Poor thing...**


	43. Chapter 43: Ventriloquism

I woke up with dry eyes, and rubbed them for a moment, then my stomach. The memory stung, but I rose from the bed, wondering where Erik was.

As I glanced down, I found him. He was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, without a pillow or a blanket... It was nearly summer now, so he had no need of those really, but still, it was pitiful to see him curled up like that on the floorboards, fully dressed save his jacket.

"Poor Erik..." I whispered, walking over to the window and dragging open the red curtains.

His view was of people, as opposed to mine of the garden. He could see them walking past, normal, and now I saw them. Mothers with babies in prams, wives with their husbands, children running up and down the sidewalks, broughams and such trickling up and down the street.

I placed my hand upon the glass. It must be nice.

The floorboards creaked, and I turned to Erik, who rose tiredly, blinking in the sunlight.

"Why weren't you in bed?" I asked, my voice weak from sorrow.

He averted his eyes in shame, "I couldn't..."

"What do you mean?"

His features tightened, and he cried miserably, "I couldn't sleep with you there! Oh, forgive Erik, he can't sleep! Not while you breathe beside him, not when he can see your chest rise and fall... He can't bear not being able to touch your hair, or your face, your face, my Christine," he said reverently, as if just the thought was entrancing him. "Illuminated in moonlight, my love, you don't know what it is to awaken and see your ethereal face... In the dark... Hear you turn over in your sleep, your little sighs... It's wonderful, how wonderful it is, to not be alone, but... But it hurts! It hurts, for he can't touch you, he won't, because he thinks... He thinks if he does... he'll... he'll... Oh, my Christine, how wicked he is!"

"Erik," I said sadly. "I'm sorry, I should've let you come to my bed-"

"No!" He cried, startling me. "No, it doesn't matter! Only, only when you want a baby... d-don't sleep beside him again, unless... unless you want a baby again ... He can't bear it."

"Dear... I'm sorry."

"You ought to be! Yes, for you torment Erik!" He put his hands over his face, then slid them back down to his sides. "Oh, my little Christine, Erik has never had this, never had a woman with him, he... he doesn't know what to do! All the time, he wants, and he wants, and he's never wanted before, so you stay away from here at night, unless you want a baby... He doesn't know what he'll do... He hasn't yet, but what if he does? What if?"

"You wouldn't."

"But what if?" He said miserably, going to his knees and clutching my skirts like a child, almost as if to hide in them.

"Erik," I sighed, pained. "Erik, why must you do this now?"

"The shame..." he whispered madly. "The shame..."

"You're scaring me now."

He looked up in apology, "Forgive me."

"Always."

"Always..." he repeated, placing his face back against my skirts for comfort. "Erik's mother told him that Erik was evil, so... so Erik is evil. That's why he is like this. He was never supposed to be married..."

"I don't understand," I pleaded. "I can't understand anything today. You are not evil."

"Erik is evil..."

"But do you want to be?"

"No..." He whispered. "I wish... I wish you had the baby you want, and you didn't have to... to let Erik touch you... It's not good for him to touch you..."

"I don't want to talk about that now, not now. I need to get dressed."

He fingered my hem, running his thumb over the lilacs embroidered onto it, "You look so lovely in this dress..."

He kissed it, then released me.

I went into my room, but as I entered stood still for a moment, my lips parted.

The cradle had not left. I had thought, somehow, in a strange way, that it would have gone with the child, but... It remained a painful memory.

"You can have another," I whispered to console myself, beginning to cry.

And then what? Over and over again? I couldn't just do as I had last time and blindly hope with one try... There would have to be multiple. Even though Erik wished he didn't have to, in his poor, twisted mind, he would if I asked. And he wanted to. He was a man, after all... And he wanted my happiness, even if it came with more shame for him.

But what if it was as horrible as last time? Was it worth this elusive dream called 'happiness' that I continued to seek in vain?

Why couldn't things just have simple answers?! It had all been so much easier before I met Erik. I had lived in a black and white world. Good and evil were separate. But Erik was a murderer, yet abused, and devoted and more selfless by the day, and yet my husband by force, through torment. There was nothing black and white about my life anymore, and even I was no longer good; I had done my fair share of wrong. If only I had been strong enough to live with Erik the same way I do now...

But was I even strong enough _now?_

As I stared down at the cradle, in tears, I felt no less helpless than a flower. What a tiny thing I was, really, delicate and fragile. Erik ought to have broken me by now. Perhaps I was broken...

But I didn't feel broken, only empty.

I grabbed a random dress out of the closet, not paying any attention. Once I had fastened it, I had to redo the buttons, since I had skipped the top one, and only then did I realize that the color was blue. It was a lovely, dark blue, at that, but I couldn't remember it. Erik must have bought it sometime ago, and here it had been, untouched. It was lighter, better for warmer days, though the air was thick with dew, not sunlight.

I didn't pin up my hair; I let it fall over my shoulders. A little bit of sunshine on such a pitiful excuse for a summer day...

Was it summer yet? It ought to be May by now... I had lost track of the months, only counting the days.

At this thought, I went to my desk, to the closed journal atop it, and tore out the paper with the tick marks on it, fifty-two in total. I clutched it in my fist and threw it into the wastebasket with vehemence.

I would make another one when I had the strength. Perhaps a nap later would do me good... Rest... I needed so much rest...

"Erik?" I called quietly, stepping out into the hall.

He peeked out from behind his bedroom door before coming over to me, "Do you need something?"

"Would you come sit with me outside, please."

"With you?"

"Of course... Distract me with something. Anything. I feel as if I'm about to cry, but I can't."

"Anything to keep away your tears," he agreed hastily. "Do you want to see some ventriloquism?"

"Is that the voice-throwing?"

"Yes."

"Why haven't you shown me that before?"

He averted his eyes, "I have..."

I blanched, "Oh... oh, yes, I forgot... But it'll be fun this time."

"This time," he agreed, elated again. "I can make the flowers sing for you!"

I smiled weakly, "Please do."

We went out into the garden and I sat on the swing, my head pressed against the side. Erik took his place beside me timidly, allowing us a distance.

"Which ones?" He asked, gesturing to the garden.

"Whichever ones you want," I replied.

Before he could begin, a "mew" came from the bushes, accompanied by a hiss, and out traipsed the two kittens. I had fed them every morning and night, or Erik had when I was unwell, for fear I would be upset if they died. I rarely cared about them anymore, for Blå avoided us like the plague, and Félicité was slowly becoming the same. She hopped up into my lap, though, so I stroked her fur as Erik began to toss his voice about the garden.

The hydrangeas sang, then the lilacs hummed, and in his elation, Erik made Félicité speak as well. He made me surrounded by beautiful sounds, his incredible voice, inside my head, at my feet, in the mouth of a cat. It was enchanting. The garden was alive, and I almost smiled fully.

Almost...

"And listen here," he said, gesturing to my rings. "They say, 'It's lovely to rest on such a dainty finger as this one.' You have such dainty fingers, my dear."

I offered my hand to him to kiss, and for a moment he was delighted, but as he rose the treasured object to his lips, he faltered, and placed it back in my lap.

"Erik is wicked to want kisses," he told me, patting my hands in reassurance. "He doesn't need them now."

"I want to be kissed," I replied softly.

"Oh... You do?"

"Yes, of course... Why wouldn't-?"

He had already brought my hand back to his lips, and I let him hold it upon his face for a moment while he savored the warmth of it.

"Do you lie?" He asked softly, caressing my hand. "Will you lie to me again?"

"No. Not about kisses."

He seemed unconvinced, but asked for another kiss, and I permitted him my forehead. Then his eyes wandered to my lips, and he pulled himself away.

"I'm going to work!" He exclaimed suddenly, but with conviction.

"Don't leave me alone," I pleaded. "Don't-"

But he was already gone. I sighed, sniffling, and Félicité mewed in my lap as I pulled her closer.

After setting her down, I shuffled up to my bedroom, clutching my empty stomach. Then I collapsed upon my bed in sobs.

"Oh, why must life be so hard?" I demanded of the humid air.

I remained there until Erik returned. It's strange how one doesn't get bored of doing nothing when depressed.

"Christine?" He called, his voice bright as he came upstairs from work. "My love?"

I sat up, "Yes, Erik?"

He had a thin white box in his arms, tied with a blue ribbon, and he placed this in my lap.

"What is it?" I asked, trying to seem excited but failing.

"Open it. It'll make you happier."

When did his gifts ever make me happy? Even so, I untied the ribbon, and opened the box.

"Erik," I said softly as I pulled out the gift, "it's beautiful, but when would I wear it?"

He had bought me an expensive gown in the light blue I preferred, and it was decadent with fashionable flourishes, and a large bust with ruffles. Only an extravagant ball would be fit for it, or-

"To the opera," he replied simply.

"O-opera?" I inquired.

"On Friday, we shall go."

"But... how?"

He frowned, "Like any other husband and wife."

"People will recognize me... I don't know if I could stand it."

"Stand being with me?" He said coldly.

I turned to him in regret, "No, no, I didn't mean that, I-"

"I want to make you happy, but Erik is too ugly!" He shouted, leaving the room and slamming the door.

I began to sob. I hadn't meant that at all! I only didn't want gossip, and people staring at me, the missing soprano, married now... They would recognize me.

Why did I care so much what they thought? It wasn't like it mattered now. I was far away from society, in my own world, my own fragmented reality.

I wanted to find Erik and explain, but I couldn't bear having him yell like that again, and cry and moan and cling to my dress...

So I waited for him to come back. And I waited. And waited. And soon the sun had gone down, and necessity propelled me to eat.

I went downstairs, searching for him, and found him at the piano, examining some sheet music. He turned to me, but averted his gaze. He had never ignored me like this before.

It hurt a lot more than the yelling...

"Erik?" I said softly. "I'm hungry."

"You want me to make you dinner?" He asked bitterly.

"I thought you might... want to."

"You're fine living with me inside the house, letting me make you meals, ignoring my face, pretending to love me, but when I take you outside, you pretend I'm not there!" He exclaimed, beginning to pace as he fumed. "On our Sunday walks, you distanced yourself, always... Because you couldn't bear the shame of being Erik's wife."

"Why do you speak like this now?" I retorted. "Earlier you were going on and on about not deserving me, and now you say this?"

"Erik deserves so little... but it's hard when you say you love him, then that he deserves you, and yet reject his company in the view of others!"

"I don't-"

"And you lie so much to him, that you love him, and even that you want him-"

"I'm not well enough for this," I snapped, causing him to step back in alarm. "I've just lost a child, Erik! Don't you understand that I'm not well? When am I ever well, anymore?! Yes, I avoided you, yes, I'm ashamed; I'm _human,_ Erik! I hate that I do it, and I try so hard not to, don't you know that I try?... I didn't want to go to the opera because everyone thought I was a mistress while I was there! And now I'm going to waltz in on the arm of a strange man, a ring on my finger, don't you know that they'll talk?"

"You say you want to be normal here," he said miserably, "as I do..."

"But the world won't give us normalcy. Erik, we're not normal, and we can never be! Do you want to keep living this daydream that we are, that we try to be normal? For it is only a dream!... I want to live in reality. This is reality! I can't keep lying to you, you're right that I have been. I love you in ways I cannot describe, ways I would never confess to anymore, for it confuses me as much as it does you!... Erik, I don't want to try to be normal anymore... I want to be happy. Trying to be normal doesn't seem to have achieved that."

Something flickered in his eyes, and he shattered, "Has Erik not made you happy-?"

"Don't say Erik anymore!" I cried. "Don't say it!"

"But I can't- my love!" He exclaimed in concern. "Don't cry, why, why do you cry like that? Is it the lost baby? Is that making you like this?"

I collapsed onto the sofa and curled up, shaking with sobs. He sat down beside me, timidly trying to wrap his arms about me, and I accepted him.

"I want to be happy again," I sobbed. "I just want to be happy."

He nodded, and I knew he understood.

He understood far better than I...


	44. Chapter 44: The Opera

The next morning, I remained in bed until Erik peeked through my door around noon.

"Christine, my love?" He said softly. "Are you unwell?"

"I suppose," I replied.

He glanced over at the window, fidgeting, "It's Sunday."

"I'm too tired for a walk, dear. I'm sorry."

"But you've slept all morning."

"It's not a tiredness that goes away from sleep."

"Will you at least eat something?" He pleaded.

"Okay... some porridge, please."

He left to bring me some, and I sighed. My eyes were full of tears that kept drying before they fell.

"Do you... want to go to the opera on Friday?" Erik asked timidly as he handed me my breakfast. "Like I asked before? I know you didn't want to, but there are secret entrances and exits, quiet rooms, and Erik knows them all."

"Well," I sighed. "it would be a shame to keep that dress in a closet, I suppose."

His features brightened, "You will, then?"

"Yes... It'll be nice, I hope. Which one is it?"

"Les Huguenots," he replied, with a little distaste. "Meyerbeer."

"You dislike Meyerbeer?" I questioned. "Then why do you want to go?"

"Any opera is entertaining, and nothing is perfect. Even Mozart can have flaws- not in the music, in the performance. But at least the sets are always lovely.

"Not the music?" I smiled weakly.

"There's one good part, the aria for the tenor role is accompanied by a viola d'amore."

"Oh? How do you know that?"

"I work at the opera house."

"Oh, yes... I feel like I've heard of the viola d'amore, from my father, maybe. What's it like?"

"You'll see."

"I will."

I occupied my bed in the mornings, the garden in the afternoon, and the sofa in the evening. The rest of the days passed far better than the two prior, with Erik becoming more and more excited as Friday approached. He bought me a lilac-colored fan, the edge white lace, for my garden excursions and, most importantly, the opera.

My mood became more predicable, as did Erik's, and on the day of the opera, I had not cried once.

I prepared myself that evening with all the pretty things Erik had bought: earrings, a necklace, my fan, et cetera. My hair was done up with ringlets and combs in the fashionable way, and after I had slipped on my shoes, I went downstairs.

He was waiting for me at the base, and melted in seeing me. It made me sad to see how much he loved me, how his eyes softened and his stance relaxed.

I felt so very beautiful in his presence, but ashamed for it.

"May I kiss your hand?" He asked happily.

I nodded, offering it.

"The brougham is waiting," he told me as his thin lips parted from my glove.

I let him escort me on his arm, like a gentleman. He was delighted by the whole affair, of having a wife to take to an opera, and he went on and on about how wonderful it was while I stared out at the sunset glowing red above the buildings.

When we arrived at the opera house, he did take us in a back way, to appease me. He knew where people were less likely to be, and we ended up in a small room I had never seen before, with polished marble floors and a glittering chandelier above our heads. Only two other couples were there, and they only gave us a momentary glance. But both women blanched at Erik, who even with his false nose was terrifying to behold, so their husbands escorted them away.

But Erik didn't seem to care. He was too engrossed in me, and kept kissing my gloved hand and caressing my wedding ring. It was becoming a nuisance, but fortunately we went to our seats soon. He had a box reserved for us, box five, he said, and he had taken great pains with it. We would be in complete privacy.

But didn't the ghost occupy box five? I couldn't remember. But Erik must have done something, bribed someone, for we were entirely undisturbed.

I had never seen an opera before, not from the audience, and I was perched on the edge of my seat in anticipation. But I was also a little pained in seeing it, of not being up there myself.

This was quickly forgotten as the tale unfolded, and I forgot everything, caught up in the lavish sets, the music, the costumes, and just the great splendor of it all. Operas were never frugal.

When I did remember I was with Erik, I pretended, like a child, that I was with someone else. And I despised myself for it, so instead I pretended I was alone. That was good enough.

The aria that Erik had mentioned came, and I turned to him.

"Is that the viola d'amore?" I asked.

"Yes."

"It's lovely," I sighed.

He nodded, though I could tell he was critiquing in his mind, so I turned back to the opera, losing myself in it.

It was like reading a book, entering another world. But this was better, for it was with music.

If only there was not a young man named Raoul in it... It brought back so many memories, of champagne and... my first kiss. In the moonlight, in love, like it was supposed to be. And I could still remember how soft his lips had been, and the feeling of his mustache brushing against the back of my hand. I could see his blue eyes in my mind, picture him with perfect clarity. It felt like an eternity ago, but it had only been a few months.

I wished he hadn't left so soon. If only things had been different...

I tried to push away my melancholy memories for the rest of the opera, and mostly succeeded. Carlotta did a wonderful job in her part, as did the rest of the cast. The entire performance, to me, was flawless, but Erik critiqued sometimes under his breath, or internally, for the duration. I ignored this, and applauded enthusiastically at the end.

"Thank you," I told him, planting a kiss on his forehead. "It was wonderful."

"And no one saw us," he said happily. "Like you wanted."

We left through a secret way Erik knew of and took another brougham home. It was perhaps midnight when we returned, maybe later, and I could barely stand on my two feet.

I turned to Erik upon entering the house, smiling in pleasant fatigue. But I saw something strange in his eyes as he shut the door, and before he had even fully turned around, he asked me, "Do you want a baby still?"

"Why do you ask that now?" I replied, confused at why he would ruin a wonderful evening with such a question.

"But... do you?"

"Erik, I don't want to talk about that. I'm exhausted; I want to go to bed."

"But do you want one... now?"

I stepped away from him, my back against the railing of the staircase, "N-not now."

"But surely, surely you do?" He pleaded. "You've been so upset about losing the other, so very upset, so you ought to want another."

"Erik, what are you going on about? Yes, I suppose I do, e-eventually, but I'm so tired right now."

"Maybe it's best if you're tired-"

I shrieked as he reached out to me with trembling hands, realizing what he was trying to coax me into. He backed away in horror at himself, clutching his hideous face and tearing off his false nose.

"Oh, my Christine..." he sobbed wretchedly. "Forgive me... Forgive me... You looked so beautiful tonight and Erik... he couldn't... How wicked he is!"

I wanted to run away, I wanted so badly to run away to my room, safe in my room, alone... but...

We both wanted each other in vastly different ways. I still longed for a child to fill the void in my soul.

"I need some wine," I told him shakily, trembling all over. "Th-then we can."

His eyes widened, and for a moment it seemed he had changed his mind. But then he hastened to get a bottle for me, and I drank two glasses, then sipped a third until I felt dizzy. My head began to spin, and I slipped away from my senses.

Hopefully this time would be better...


	45. Chapter 45: Gifts

"Oh, Erik, what have you done now?" I sighed, sliding out of my bed and rubbing my throbbing forehead.

The room was covered in baskets of flowers of every type I could think of. They were tied with ribbons and coating the floor, my dresser, my closet, and a vase of red roses was on my nightstand. Scattered among them were gifts into pastels, bound with multicolored bows.

Was he apologizing? Poor dear...

The door opened, and he came in with a tray of breakfast for me, giddy with delight.

"What's the occasion?" I asked, confused.

He set the tray on my bed, not meeting my eyes, "Nothing."

"No, really, what? Is it my birthday?"

"No. Your birthday is in November."

"I know. Then what's the occasion?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

He fidgeted sheepishly, "It's a secret... Do you feel well?"

"My head hurts a bit."

"The wine," he said softly.

"It won't be like that again."

"Oh, Erik doesn't mind."

"But... I'm sorry. It was cruel of me."

He looked at me in complete confusion, "Cruel? But it didn't hurt you this time."

"Not a bit."

"But... it was wrong..." he said miserably. "You had to get drunk, and Erik... Erik asked for it, when only you should ask. Will you forgive him?"

I sighed, "Yes, of course I do."

His features rose in elation, and he buried his face in the bedsheets for a moment in his happiness. I started eating my porridge, which had a dollop of jam at the center, as he always did for me.

"Are these flowers an apology, then?" I asked, pausing a moment. "Is the occasion my forgiveness, which shouldn't have even been asked for?"

"No."

"Then what? The gifts?"

"No."

"Then why is my room like this?"

He looked up at me sheepishly, "It's... it's my... my..."

"Your what?"

He fidgeted nervously, "My... My..."

"What?" I sighed irritably, rubbing my forehead. "Dear, what is it?"

"My b-birthday," he said softly, as if ashamed.

"Your birthday? Oh... Why didn't you tell me before? I could have made you a gift, or something."

"No, no," he protested. "No gifts."

"Why not?"

He shook his head, "A smile is enough. Will you smile?"

"Of course."

He nodded happily, "I've never had a real birthday... Will you give me one?"

"Of course, dear, but first I need to get rid of this headache, and finish my breakfast."

"I'll bring you something."

He went off to bring me up a tonic or some other medicine, and I smiled, swallowing another spoonful of porridge.

Last night had not been so bad at all. Not good, still uncomfortable and embarrassing, but I could do it again just fine. No wine, though, that seemed to have actually made it worse, for I was not in control of myself. The time before, I had been in complete control. This time Erik had been, due to my state, but he was afraid of hurting me, or making me uncomfortable, so he kept asking for permission for every little thing. Every. Single. Thing. He wouldn't even permit himself to kiss me without asking. Eventually I had told him irritably that I didn't care, then giggled in my intoxication. I thought the fear of pain was humorous, and I was cynical when drunk, I learned. Cynical and giggly. But there had been no pain, unlike last time, and after it, Erik had slid away from me in his shame and cried himself to sleep. But I couldn't tell whether they were happy or shameful tears, and I had decided they must be both in turn.

He returned with my tonic, and I drank the bitter liquid eagerly.

"What do you want to do?" I asked him. "Should we buy a cake?"

"A cake?"

"Of course. A birthday cake... Oh, Erik, I have a wonderful idea! Could you give me some money, and I could go out and buy you a cake, as a surprise? And presents, let me buy you presents, please."

"I don't want presents," he said sorrowfully. "A cake is nice, though."

"Why not presents?"

"Because I don't want any!" He yelled, then buried his head in his hands. "Forgive me... My m-mother gave me... presents, my mother gave me lots of... presents..."

My lips parted as he opened up to me about his pathetic excuse for a childhood.

"A mask... a-and lots of things to keep me occupied in... i-in the attic so I wouldn't... bother her... Like pencils and paper, and paint, books, to keep me away... And my mask... The mask was nice, though, because sometimes she looked at me with it on. Sometimes... But then, I was wicked, for Erik is wicked, and I asked... a-asked for a touch. S-she let me hold her hand, her gloved hand, because Erik's touch is so terrible. She was not as brave as you. And I... I was so happy I... I t-tried to kiss her h-hand... It was gloved so I thought... I thought it might be... alright... But she slapped me and shut me away a-again... Like always..."

"Well," I said softly, gently, "I'm not your mother, and I want to give you a proper birthday... So may I do as I asked?"

"I'll come with you."

"But then it won't be a surprise-"

He gave a cry of rage, "How can you be so cruel?"

I blinked in stunned confusion, "Cruel? What?"

"You want to be rid of Erik! But that is not cruel, forgive him for calling you cruel, you just want to leave him for some time, because he's so ugly. That's why you want to buy gifts!"

"Erik, why do you think I would ever-? Fine. Come with me, then."

"Could we stay home instead?" He pleaded. "With music?"

"Why didn't you say that before? Of course... so you don't want a cake?"

"Do you want a cake?"

"It's not _my_ birthday."

"But do you want one?"

I sighed, "No, it's fine... What if I made cookies?"

"No, no cookies."

He fortunately spared me this tale of woe, and instead asked me to open my gifts. He practically threw them at me, and I had no desire to unwrap more frivolous things, but I smiled prettily and tore off the paper and bows.

Once this was done, he took me downstairs to play music. He was in such a state of euphoria that it made my heart hurt, and as we finished another piece (I had lost count) I planted a little kiss on his forehead.

"It's so nice to be loved..." he said softly, crying into my skirts. "You love me?"

"Yes. I love you."

"Say it like you do, like you always do."

I sighed, "Erik, I love you in ways I cannot express or understand."

He was contented with this, then he realized what time it was and made us lunch. I went out to feed the reclusive kittens as he did so, and when I came back inside, we ate. But my curiosity was pounding inside me.

"Erik, dear?" I asked gently once he had put away the plates and silverware. "If you don't mind, I... I'd like to know... How old are you today?"

"I lost count. Erik already looks like death, so what does his age matter?"

"In your forties, maybe?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I... I don't know."

"You're so curious," he said happily, timidly prodding my stomach. "Do you think the baby will be curious like you?"

"There's not a baby right now."

"How do you know? Don't you want one?"

"More than anything," I sighed. "But I doubt I could get lucky both times... I've been meaning to tell you, we should share a bed now. It's easier that way."

"But... but what if Erik wants, and you don't and he... what if he-?"

"Then more chance for me to have a baby."

"Is... is Erik wicked for wanting? You act like he isn't. But he is... isn't he?"

"If you didn't look as you do, would you be wicked for it?"

"No."

"Don't you want to be normal?"

He fidgeted with the fabric of my skirt, "You said we weren't normal."

"We aren't... Until I'm with child again, I don't want you to think about being wicked. Can you do that for me?"

"Erik is very bad at promises, but he'll try for his Christine."

"Thank you."

I kissed his forehead.

And he did his best to fulfill his promise. The summer days grew hot, and we often sat together lazily in the garden, when we weren't playing music. My soul brightened considerably as August arrived, and as my hope for a child grew. By September, I had my wish, and I told Erik that I was with child again.

His face was blank, and he replied quietly, "Good... May I?"

I let him touch my abdomen, which had hardened a little, not much. His expression was unreadable as he drew away his hand and averted his eyes.

"Then... you'll return to your room?" He asked.

"Well... yes." I bit my lip. "Erik, I'm sorry, I-"

"Erik is wicked again."

"No, no, that's not- we can still, if you want, just... not often."

"Because you hate it," he said sorrowfully. "But you have your baby now, so you needn't anymore. You'll be happier now without Erik at night."

He patted my hands reassuringly, then went into his room and locked the door. I sighed, rubbing my stomach.

"This time, please," I said softly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **I saw a headcanon from _phantom of the keurig_ and of course I decided I should finally make the chapter about my take on Erik's birthday.**


	46. Chapter 46: Rain

I was lying down on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. There was a steady pounding of little raindrops on the roof and the windows, but no thunder, no lightning.

It was strange being alone. For the entire summer, now the very start of autumn, I had been next to him. Gradually we had moved closer to each other, until it was perfectly normal for him to press his head against my chest the moment I had lied down beside him.

We had become accustomed to each other. When he had his nightmares, and I woke to his whimpering and trembling, I knew how to hold him to make him cease. And when I had cried for fear of perhaps not getting pregnant again, he had learned how to calm me by petting my hair. And on the nights that we tried for a child, his tears began to subside, and it became commonplace for him. It was originally for him to know I was his, I think, but slowly it became simply acceptance. I had accepted him to father a child, which he was obviously conflicted about, but at the same time euphoric that I would trust him so much. And of course, it was pleasant for him, and had become a little bit more for me as time had gone on.

But I wanted my nights alone, now that I could have them. It was miserable to be kicked at night, have the bedsheets stolen, or, as it was in the summer, be caked in sweat because Erik couldn't bear not having all the blankets over us.

Now I was alone, and it had surprised me that Erik had raised no objection to this. He was actually much more passive with me now, letting me do as I pleased, even if that meant cooking or, heaven forbid, washing dishes. He had taken me shopping for the baby room after I had had a nightmare about miscarrying another baby, without question. He had even permitted me to go shopping by myself, for one hour exactly, when I was particularly anxious and upset.

He was still Erik, though. It didn't matter how much he loved me and wanted my happiness; he was naturally selfish. One ought to be, after a life like that. He had had to take everything for himself, so it was only natural for him to think of himself first, and I forgave him for it. Besides, he tried. He truly did try. And he loved me, and perhaps now truly understood what that meant.

As I was thinking over all the months, pensive from the scent of rain in the air, a great clap of thunder shook the house to its foundations. This was followed by Erik's footsteps coming upstairs at a frantic pace.

Why wasn't he in bed?

He pushed my door open tentatively, peeking through the side as if curious.

"What's wrong, dear?" I asked as kindly as I could manage.

"Are you scared of the storm?" He inquired, his voice soft.

"No."

"Oh..." He said quietly, averting his eyes. "Good."

He turned to leave, but then came back inside another step.

"But maybe, maybe the baby might be scared," he offered.

"Erik," I sighed, "I don't think the baby is anything more than a bud right now, like a flower. I doubt he can even hear, much less be afraid... It's probably very nice where he is, too. Nice and warm and safe."

He fidgeted, "But what if?"

"Erik, what do you need?"

"I'm worried about you and the baby being frightened."

"We're perfectly fine."

He actually seemed rather disappointed at this, and hid it poorly. As he turned to leave, having mumbled something that a sounded like "good," I realized his face was shiny with tears.

"Erik, are you scared of the storm?"

"Me? Scared of the-? yes, yes, terribly, Christine, my love," he said with haste. "It's very frightening when you're not with me, won't you... won't you come stay with me tonight, because of the storm?"

I sighed, "I'm so tired, why don't you just sleep here?"

"In y-your bed?"

"You would make me, your pregnant wife, go all the way across the hall to your bed, instead of simply staying here comfortably?"

"Forgive me," he pleaded. "Here is fine, wonderful. Oh, what a kind wife you are to let Erik come sleep beside you again, when he shouldn't, because you said-"

The room flashed with white light, then a crack came from outside, cutting him off but only making me jump.

"Scared of the storm?" I inquired, but he didn't seem to notice. "Well, you need to let me be alone some nights... Other couples don't spend every night in the same bed, even for thunderstorms."

"But we're not other couples," he argued happily, slipping underneath the bedsheets. "You tell me that we aren't normal."

And who knew that would come back to bite me.

"No. I suppose we're not... Erik!" I cried, wincing, causing him to jerk upright. "I'm sore, you can't put your head on my chest now, you know that! I think it's from the baby, because of the mil- oh, don't cry, I'm sorry, you just hurt me-"

He fled the room in sobs. Hurting me was far too much for him to bear.

I was too exhausted to go after him, so I turned onto my side, rubbing my stomach again. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but it had extended ever so slightly. My nausea had gone away a few days ago, to my horror, until I realized that three months must have passed. But that was odd, since my symptoms had only begun to appear in late July, and now it was the end of September. I had not known the exact date of conception, though, so I was able to guess that it had been early July, making the baby due in March. By that time I would have been married to Erik for a year. An entire year with him.

It was hard to tell whether it was so miserable or not, since I had become adjusted to my strange life. But hopefully the baby would make me truly happy. Hopefully...

At the moment, however, it was making me miserable. The baby had given me insomnia some nights, like this one, so I rolled over to my other side to look at the cradle, which was now in a little nursery area. Erik had added more to it almost everyday, and now there was a rocking chair, mobile, some toys, clothes, because he had realized my happiness was far more genuine at these gifts than those for myself.

Eventually, he did return to my room, thinking I was asleep. It had frightened me half to death the first time I had awoken to find him leaning over me, watching my sleeping form.

"You're not asleep?" He said softly.

"I can't tonight." I replied. "Maybe it's the storm."

"But it's only raining now."

"Then it's the baby."

"Must be..." he fidgeted. "Have you forgiven me?"

"Yes, of course. It wasn't your fault you forgot."

"But why are you sore there?" He asked like an inquisitive child.

"Probably for the baby."

"For?"

"Milk, Erik. I have to feed the baby when it's born."

He averted his eyes for a moment, deep in thought.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Do you think... my mother... fed me?"

Why must you do this to yourself?

"How are you alive if she didn't?" I offered. "Forty years ago- or whenever- they didn't have alternatives, really, not like we have now, and even those aren't very good. And you couldn't live on something else."

"But how could she?"

"I don't know, Erik. But that's behind you now, don't think about it."

"You'll feed the baby? No matter what it looks like, do you promise to feed it properly?"

"Of course-"

"Swear it!" He cried suddenly, startling me.

"I promise I will feed it... Don't yell at me."

"Erik didn't mean to yell..." he whimpered, coming to my side. "He didn't mean to, he only wanted the promise, because you've been so good to your promises now."

"You have, too."

He smiled sheepishly at this, "For once."

"Are you coming to bed, then?"

"But... you said you couldn't sleep."

"Maybe you'll help."

"What if Erik forgets about your soreness-?"

"I won't let you forget."

He lied down next to me, mostly appeased by this.

"May I touch it?" He asked, reaching a trembling hand out over my abdomen.

"Of course, but you won't feel anything yet."

He nodded, his cold touch nearly making me shiver, "There's a little sort of knot... Your nausea is gone now?"

"Yes. It must be the fourth month already."

"But you only told me earlier today about it."

"Well, didn't you suspect? I just didn't want to get my hopes up and... and have last time repeat itself. So I didn't even tell myself."

"Christine, my love, that doesn't make sense."

"Nothing does anymore, really."

He removed his hand and lied down facing me, his hideous features cloaked in the darkness. I saw him still, fully, but I didn't _see_ him. It was a strange phenomenon, and sometimes I had to remind myself of how bizarre my life was, as I would fall into routine and forget.

But how nice it was to forget... to forget everything I had lost and all the pain and tears and...

I wanted a baby so I wouldn't have to forget. Then I could have all my time taken up with the little dear, like a proper wife. It was the only part of being a wife that had ever appealed to me, having a baby to care for and adore, watch grow up, love and be loved by.

"I love you, Erik," I said softly.

But he had fallen asleep. I had that effect on him, of comfort and safety, and that was why he clung to me so. He had probably never had that, and he still doubted his security often, because of his memories, and I had had to console him often. But during my nausea, which I had hidden under the guise of a prolonged illness, I had shouted at him far more than I would have liked, and he still was recovering.

I turned over in bed again, and at last the baby let me fall asleep.

Upon waking the next morning, I found Erik fiddling with the mobile above the cradle. We still had plenty of time, almost six months of it, to prepare everything, but he was getting a head start.

"Good morning," he told me happily, coming to my side. "Do you want breakfast?"

"Yes, please-"

"No, no, don't get up, I'll bring it up, my sweet little Christine."

"I don't need to be waited on hand and- fine. That's fine, dear."

He was already going downstairs. He always tried to bring me breakfast in bed, and other little things, like tedious hot baths and, of course, chocolates and flowers.

We had progressed so much in those few months, with minimal regression. I was almost happy now, what with my nausea gone and Erik behaving in such a sane manner most days. And the hope that a baby brings was still bright within me.

But what if it turned out like Erik?

I would meet that when I came to it, which hopefully I would not.

Erik knocked on my door and brought my breakfast in- porridge with jam as usual.

"Could we go somewhere tonight?" I asked as I began to eat. "We haven't gone anywhere in a while, since I've been so unwell, and I get so bored cooped up in this house."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Hmm... I don't know. Maybe just a carriage ride would be nice, simply to get out of here for a little while... Do you have anywhere you would like to go?"

He fidgeted. He always fidgeted when he had horrible ideas that led to tears or some sort of outpouring of emotions.

"What, Erik?" I asked in trepidation.

"I've never been... to dinner... with you." He said quietly. "A proper dinner, at a restaurant."

"Oh..."

"There are places with private rooms." He told me hastily, to convince me. "So no one would stare."

"Well... If you want. But you still refuse to eat with me."

"You don't want to see Erik eat... But does that sound nice? I've always wanted to take a woman to a restaurant, like... like a normal man would."

"You won't be uncomfortable?" I asked, confused.

"Not if you aren't. And we'll be in our own room, all alone."

I crossed my arms, smiling secretively, "Do you love me very much?"

"Of course I love you, my little Christine, I love you more than anything!" He told me happily.

"Then you will give me whatever I want? Within reason?"

"Anything..." he said, a little wary. "What do you want?"

"You have to eat with me."

"Why would you want something like that?"

"You're the one who wants to be normal."

He sighed angrily, "Yes, normal, and it won't be normal. Erik hasn't been raised knowing about all to do at dinner, because he's never been! So you want to mock him? Is that why? How can you be so cruel to your poor Erik, forcing him to humiliate himself in front of you like that?! Even in Persia he never ate dinner in front of people- but none of that, none of that! We won't go to dinner, because you only want to laugh at your poor Erik!"

"When have I _ever_ laughed at you?" I asked sternly. "How can you think I would ever mean to humiliate you? I only want to show you how to properly eat with me, so we can be normal like you say you want! Is it normal for a husband to hide in the kitchen after dinner? Most husbands don't even go in the kitchen."

"Well, we aren't normal! You say all the time, we aren't! So we won't go to dinner, not like a normal couple, we'll stay home as usual."

"But I want to go," I pleaded gently. "Please, Erik, why would you deny me anything?"

He was taut, wanting nothing more than to tell me "no," but then he sighed, "Of course not, my dear... If you desire to humiliate Erik, if that will make you _happy,_ then he'll do as you wish."

"But I don't want to humiliate you. When have I ever done such a thing?"

He thought for a moment, then thought harder, "Never."

"Then why would I now?"

He saw the logic of this and realized I had won.

"See?" I beamed. "And besides, you know I get cravings now. Remember last week?"

"Yes, you don't eat fish anymore... How can you be Swedish and not like fish?"

I laughed, "It'll go away after the baby, I think."

"After the baby..."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Fixed! Let me know if it's better, please.**


	47. Chapter 47: Dinner

We went to dinner at seven thirty, to a fancy little restaurant not too far from our house. Erik kept switching between delight and irritation on the way, and when we got there he kept fidgeting with the chain of his pocket watch.

Once we were in a separate room, which in place of a window had a lovely landscape painting, I thought this would cease. But instead, his nervous ticks only increased, and I was afraid he might start clawing at the cream colored wallpaper or swinging from the little chandelier above our heads.

"Erik, dear, why do you think I'll make fun of you?" I asked gently.

"It's but that I think that it's... Oh, it's fine, my love, don't worry about Erik. What are you having?"

"Um... I don't know, what are you having?"

"I don't mind."

"Well, you have to pick."

"I know that. I'll pick after you do."

I bit my lip, "Probably a light soup, nothing with tomatoes, though, that sounds terrible all of a sudden..."

"So... the baby chooses what you eat?" He inquired.

"Maybe. I don't know how these things work. He must hate tomatoes and fish it seems like."

"You think it'll be a boy, then?"

"No, I just don't want to say 'it.' Either would be fine."

"I hope... I hope it's a girl that looks just like you. Just like you."

I folded my hands under my chin for a moment, "Do you really want another me? I was a horrible child."

"Horrible child?" He asked, bewildered.

"Oh, I cried all the time and threw fits. To be fair, my mom passed away when I was very young, so it's not my fault I was erratic for a few years, but still-"

"Do you remember your mother?"

"Not well..." I sighed. "She was blonde like me, I think, but paler and taller, but then, I was a girl, so everyone was tall to me. I know she sang to me often, and all the things... the things that mothers do."

I looked over at him, a little wary he would be upset. He seemed perfectly content, however, and I noticed him glance at his wine with a bit of trepidation. He had drank in front of me before, but not when he could help it, and he did so now, a little timidly. As usual in public, he was wearing his false nose. Supposedly, his masks were all gone, but I knew he must have one hidden away somewhere, out of my reach.

We ordered our appetizers... Well, I ordered mine: a bowl of mushroom soup. Erik said he wasn't all that hungry, and only wanted the main course. I thought to remark about how odd that was at a meal, to only have one course, but there was no sense in upsetting him.

I had become much better at handling his fragile emotions, to the point of needing to curb my pride about it.

I sipped my soup while talking about Sweden, which I did often when he simply wanted to listen. I was certain I had told the stories a million times before to him, but he was content to hear again and again, and never told me if I was repeating information. It was sweet watching him like that, entranced by my voice as I had been by his before. He clasped his hands under his chin like a curious child, his eyes nearly pleasant to look at in their sudden softness.

Then our food came, and he tensed up like someone had stuck a rod up his back. I sighed as the waiter left, not looking forward to this at all, but I had set myself up for it, so I had to come through.

"I promise not to laugh," I told him.

He was silent, emotionless as he picked up his fork and knife, taking out a cube of chicken and examining it stuck on the tip of his fork.

It took an extraordinary amount of resolve for him to swallow it in front of me, and I nearly did laugh at him. What did he think people did when they ate?

"Why do you smile?" He asked.

"Because you don't eat any different than anyone I've ever met... Is the chicken good?"

"I ordered the same as you, my dear, you know whether it's good or not."

"I don't have your mouth. What do you think?"

"It's fine..."

"Better than my cooking, when you let me?"

"No," he replied swiftly.

I beamed, "And you say you don't have politeness or manners... I won't watch you eat anymore, but it's not strange or humorous, I promise."

He was skeptical for a moment, then continued his meal, and when his plate was half-empty, he ceased. I, however, had far too much, and even added on a slice of chocolate cake for dessert that Erik had insisted on.

When we returned home, Erik in high spirits and I sleepy and full, he did not attempt to convince me to stay with him. We kissed each other's foreheads, then parted ways.

I felt wretched for it, but this faded as the months went by. The garden began to change color, then wither into brown, and the kittens (now cats) became cold and decided to come back inside. I pampered them with cream and discarded balls of yarn, but they hissed when I tried to pet them, the mean things. Even the ginger one stuck her nose up in the air when I reached out for her, though she was more open to the sensation.

Erik became obsessed with my wellbeing as November approached and my waistline thickened. He bought me dresses to fit me in my pregnancy, more decorations for the little nursery, and read books about everything he and I might need to know. But he restricted me from doing most anything, even though I wasn't even six months along yet. He told me I should rest all the time.

And worse, my birthday was in November. What on earth could he have planned for that?

At least that was near the end of the month...

I woke up rather irritable one morning, and shuffled downstairs without a word to him. As I sat down on the sofa, I tried to think of why I was angry, practically bursting with it, but couldn't find a point. Everything was infuriating.

"Good morning, my love," Erik told me as I placed my hand on my stomach, which now had swollen enough that my old dresses would tear if I tried to button them up.

"Good morning," I replied with a sigh.

His face fell, "Is something the matter? Why do you sigh? You never sigh unless something is wrong, or you're thinking- is something wrong? No, no you would tell Erik, wouldn't you? You always tell Erik, because of what a wonderful wife you are, far better than he deserves, but he tries to make you happy all the time, oh, you must be discontented, yes, is the baby doing this-?"

"Erik, could you please be quiet?" I said sharply.

"Oh, yes... does your head hurt?"

"No."

"Do you want breakfast-?"

"I just asked you to be quiet!" I bit my lip in apology. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing well today, I'm all... I don't know what. Yes, I would like a little breakfast... Could you put some sugar on the porridge?"

"And you need milk, too- don't be upset with Erik, that's what the books say, and you need to be healthy."

"Okay, a glass is fine."

He turned to leave, and I suddenly glanced down at myself as I felt a movement beneath my hand, inside me. My eyes widened in surprise, and I hastened to unbutton my dress, throwing modesty to the wind, and placed both hands upon my swollen stomach.

There was a sort of fluttering feeling inside me, stronger than the little things I had felt before, and under my fingertips, faint movement.

"Erik!" I cried. "Erik, come here! Come here now!"

He darted out of the kitchen and cast me a horrified glance at seeing me practically half-naked, but I coaxed him over, only half-heartedly attempting to cover myself, so excited was I.

"Put your hand on me, right here!" I said happily. "Oh, I hope it didn't pass..."

He obeyed my instructions, perhaps a little afraid of me, and I could feel his trembling cease for a moment. Then he glanced up at me, his dark sockets widening.

"Is that... is that it?" He asked, his voice a wisp.

"I think so, oh, has it ceased?"

"Not yet... Yes, now. Now it's gone... W-won't you button up your dress?"

"Why?" I demanded childishly, then I realized it was rather cruel of me to be showing myself off in such a fashion, no matter how much self-control he had. "Oh, of course, Erik, sorry."

I fastened my bodice back up, and beamed at him.

"You're happy now?" He asked.

"Oh, I've never felt so happy! It's real, Erik, it's real! I can feel it, I..."

I started to cry, and he went to his knees in front of me in confusion.

"Why do you cry now?" He questioned pitifully. "Why do you cry? Are you upset?"

"I'm so h-happy," I sobbed, kissing his forehead. "But I'm s-sad and angry, too, all this... the b-baby gives me these weird f-feelings sometimes."

"But they go away? Then you can be just happy?"

"They'll go a-away, I just need to f-finish crying."

He nodded, concerned for me. Then he rose, pacing for a moment, and said suddenly, "I could make the baby talk, if you wanted. Would that stop your tears?"

"W-what?" I sniffed, reaching for a handkerchief. "Talk?"

"If you want."

"No... that's a little strange. I'm not in the m-mood for ventriloquism, not like that."

I placed my hand back upon my stomach, but there was no sensation like before.

"Is it strange, having a baby inside you?" He asked.

"You've asked me that every day. It just feels kind of warm, and heavy, and... Not lonely, I suppose. There are little flutters sometimes, I think, but I don't know if those are him or not. But I can't really _feel_ him, exactly, but I can at the same time."

"You're not very coherent when you explain things."

"Oh, be quiet, I'm perfectly coherent."

"Do you hate Erik's voice so?" He asked tearfully. "That you must have it silenced so often?"

"No, Erik, I-"

He started to sob into my skirts, and I sighed and bit my lip.

"I didn't mean it like that Erik." I said. "I meant it like... like a joke, you know? Be quiet? It wasn't like before, you can talk... It's alright, dear, I didn't mean it like before..."

When we finally parted, he realized he had left the stove on with my porridge. It had turned to overcooked mush, so he threw it out, and I told him I wasn't hungry anymore, and that strawberries and cream sounded good.

"We don't have strawberries," he said. "It's November."

"I know."

"It's hard to get strawberries in November."

"And expensive."

"That doesn't matter," he said simply, waving my words away. "I could go find some... i-if you really want them?"

"No, I'll be fine... Could we play some music, actually?"

His eyes lit up, "Of course! Always, my little Christine, what music? Just Erik, or both?"

"Both."


	48. Chapter 48: Dreams of Summer

As the month wore on, it was common for Erik to hear me cry out in excitement at feeling the baby again. Sometimes he missed it, though, but was rather nonchalant as opposed to disappointed.

He constantly shifted between delight and concern about the baby. Most days, he kept drowning me in questions about it all, then would go off to reminisce about his pitiful childhood and beg me never to do such-and-such terrible things to the child. I always told him I would never, with as little irritation as possible, and normally he had to cry before leaving me alone again.

He had almost stopped going to work entirely, and when I asked about this, he replied, "To care for my wife."

"I'm perfectly fine." I told him. "We still have four more months to go."

"But you feel faint sometimes. There's no point in risking anything."

"Risking? I'm perfectly safe in this house."

"What if you fell down the stairs?" He asked suddenly. "Or were frightened by something? Tripped?! Oh, then you would lose the baby! You can't lose it, so I have to stay here all the time to take care of you, because I love you so... You won't be happy if you lose another, and have to start all over again."

"I suppose not... but I'm always careful. I hold the railing when I walk downstairs, how could I possibly fall?"

"Accidents happen, that's why I must stay with you now. I love you, my little Christine, so I want to keep you very safe with the baby."

I sighed, "But we can still go places? I haven't been out of this house in a week."

"You haven't asked. But you should keep off your feet, and pregnant women don't go walking about, do they?"

"I'm not _that_ big yet."

"Well, we can take carriage rides still, if you want to be out for a little while. But don't women lose babies when they're frightened? What if something happens to frighten you?! Yes, you must stay home, all the time, for the baby."

"Erik, really, I'm only five months along-"

"Nearly six!"

I sighed, "Nearly."

"And it's freezing outside! The garden is dead now from it, all covered in frost in the mornings. You need to be warm..." He looked over at me for a moment, thinking. "Do you not like the house? Do you want something added to it, is that why you always ask to go out, even in the cold?"

"No, the house is fine."

"Your room, then? Is something wrong with it? I love you, my dear, I want you to be happy with your room."

"My room is _fine_."

"You sighed again. Are you upset?"

"Of course I'm upset! You won't let me go anywhere."

"But it's cold outside! Why do you even want to go anywhere- don't cross your arms, don't, please talk to Erik, your poor Erik, won't you?... You women are so obstinate! Erik didn't say you couldn't go anywhere, simply that you shouldn't. And don't you love the baby? Don't you want to protect it-?"she

"I'm going to take a nap," I declared.

"Oh, good." He said happily. "It's good for you to rest, my love."

I shuffled upstairs, restraining myself in my indignation. Yes, I was showing, but five months was not enough to warrant being kept inside all the time... was it?

I curled up on my bed, unbuttoning my bodice and slipping my hand onto my stomach. Sometimes when I ran my hand over it- though very rarely, and mostly at night- the baby would move a little.

But there was nothing. I stared up at the ceiling, blinking every so often. Erik went up and down the stairs for some time, pacing as he did when in anxious thought.

I had a strange desire to curse. I felt it would relieve me of all my emotions for a moment, but of course I did not. Only once I had cursed, as a child, to Raoul, actually. He hadn't thought that I knew any, since I was a girl, but he boasted he knew a hundred. He wouldn't tell me, though, because I was a girl, so I showed him I could, but I only knew one French curse, and it wasn't any good. We had a heated debate about whether French or Swedish curses were better, and my father stopped us, but we had not been actually cursing so he couldn't give me a punishment. As if he would; he never did. It was a miracle I obeyed him at all.

Raoul... I had been having odd dreams about him ever since the opera, and though they were infrequent, I remembered them vividly. Normally they were comprised of a strange version of the dinner we had had together, with odd colors added in, or bizarre characters. Sometimes we were in an opera together, and sometimes I had to protect him from Erik's wrath. But I often had lovely dreams about him kissing me, and these increased as time went by. Before, I had snapped out of these, my mind knowing very well of Erik's jealousy, though of course he could not see them.

But they had become longer, sweeter, and I pined for them. I knew it was a horrible thing to live for dreams, but as I didn't dream all that often I thought it was fine.

However, as I fell asleep for my nap, I was almost instantly transported to a large bedroom, all done up like a scene from an opera. There were Persian rugs all over the floor, and they seemed to change color every so often. I was perched on the edge of the bed, which was soft like a pillow, and I bounced a little on it, feeling it give way beneath me. For a moment, I realized I was not pregnant, and glanced about in confusion. Then I remembered that I wasn't pregnant at all, but that I had just been married. I was wearing a strange silver dress, and a white veil was tucked behind my ears, and it was then that I realized the entire place was covered in flowers, white ones, all in pastel gift boxes.

One of the great oak doors opened at the sound of an electric doorbell, and Raoul came into the room, looking very handsome in his dress clothes. I rushed to embrace him and cover him in kisses, so did he. He was so soft and warm, and confident. He spun me around and teased me, pulling me close whenever I got dizzy and pressing kisses all over my cheeks and mouth. I was smiling and laughing, and my eyes widened as I suddenly realized I was barely dressed. Where had the silver wedding dress gone? Then I remembered that we were married, and it was alright, perfectly alright. It was suddenly dark outside, and we kept kissing, and embracing, and... and we...

I woke up feeling terribly confused, and trembling all over. My face was flushed with shame, for I had never had a dream like that, never!

Erik came into my room and I gave a start, causing him to draw back behind the door.

"Are you alright, my dear?" He asked softly.

"F-fine," I trembled out.

"Has Erik frightened you?"

"No, I just... had a strange dream."

"Oh..." he fidgeted, and I shut my eyes in preparation for dealing with this new thought of his. "I was thinking, while you slept, that perhaps... perhaps I ought to go to work a lot again."

"Why?"

"For the baby... what if...? What if Erik frightens it? Oh, he's been touching your stomach so often, what if his touch has harmed it?! That's why he should go to work and leave you alone."

"Your touch can't harm the baby-"

"How do you know?" He asked pitifully. "Oh, my little Christine, Erik would die if he hurt you or the baby! And you want to be alone, for you aren't alone now, not so much at all, because you always have the baby with you... So he ought to stay away, or... or..."

"Or what?"

He tore off down the stairs, and I heard him slipping on his coat and gloves as I pursued him.

"Or what, Erik?" I called, keeping my hand on the railing as he had insisted upon as I rushed downstairs.

He shut the door behind himself as he left, right in my face, and I sighed irritably. Then as I turned around, my chin started to tremble, and I promptly burst into tears because of the baby and Erik and... Raoul.

Perhaps it would have been best if I had never seen him in the first place. I had thought he was gone, but he was still in my heart, and I feared I would need to carve him out soon, or else be miserable for the rest of my days, remembering him when there was no point in it. I was married, he was a vicomte and far away, so what was the use of these horrible thoughts? And how cruel they were to Erik! I needed to be rid of them immediately.

But... where was Raoul now? It didn't matter, for I could never see him, but still... Where?

Erik came back within the hour. I was lying on the sofa, my face coated in dried tears, my hands clasped over my swollen abdomen.

I turned to him and found him wearing a new black mask. My gaze turned cold, and I crossed my arms childishly, turning away from him.

"I won't look at you with that thing on," I told him. "And more than that, I shan't!"

"But the baby, Christine, my love," he pleaded. "The baby won't like my face when it's born, and it might not now, because we don't know if it can tell or not... S-so I should wear this now, that's why I bought it, for you and the baby not to see me."

I gave him no sign that I had heard.

"Are you unwell?" He asked, his voice pained. "Why have you been crying?"

"I don't know."

"The baby, then?"

I was silent.

"Did... did you sleep well?" He asked, trying to change subjects.

I set my jaw, trying to hide my tears, for I feared he could find out somehow, even though the dream wasn't my fault. If I was crying for no reason, what if he could tell?

He removed his mask shakily, "There, my love, will you cease now? Please, I can't bear your tears... I can't..."

He reached out for me, and I cried out for him not to touch me. I didn't want to be touched, not... not by _him._

He was hurt for a moment, standing there pitifully. Then he suddenly headed back to the front door, telling me he would buy me something to make me stop crying. But nothing could, nothing, for the baby was propelling my tears onward as well,.

As I turned back to face the room, I realized he had left his new mask on the end table. I didn't care if he had just bought it, I would not have my child, _our_ child, be afraid of him. And I knew that if Erik was masked when the baby was born, he would never remove it until the day he died.

So I rose, bristling with anger, and threw the black covering into the fireplace, watching it dissolve into the flames.

My mood must have woken up the baby, for he stirred for a moment, only a moment, before settling again. I didn't smile, only looked down in confusion at myself.

What if the baby... didn't make me happy?

What if it drove Erik mad?


	49. Chapter 49: Descent

It was the night before my birthday, and I was out on the swing in the garden, wishing for snow. My cloak hung loose about my shoulders, but though I shivered, I felt no cold. I felt nothing.

Erik had gone quite mad. It had started out slow, with him switching back and forth over his different emotions. He couldn't decide whether it was best for him to leave me alone or stay by my side and aid me with everything. He couldn't decide if I should be free to go about as I wished, to make me happy, or be kept inside, to keep the baby safe. And most importantly, he still feared I would become like his mother and neglect the child. He continued crying over this, raging at me, insisting that I promise not to do so many terrible things.

He now had two people to care for, and he wanted to keep the baby safe and me happy, but in his mind both wasn't a possibility. I knew he would have to pick one soon, and I prayed it would be my happiness. I truly prayed, on my knees like I had so long ago, for I needed a miracle.

I still trembled just thinking of what he could do in his insanity. He would not grab me, for he feared a miscarriage by the slightest injury on my part, but I knew he could rationale it in his mind, his poor, twisted mind.

I was tense with fear of when he would make up his mind, for I knew he would eventually. Didn't he love me more than the baby?

Ah, but that was just it! A miscarriage at nearly six months could harm me, he thought, kill me, even. He feared my death above all else, that I would leave him, and that it would be his fault, for he had given me the child.

I blinked up at the night sky, trying to point out a star. But it was gray and cloudy, with only a white blotch where the moon ought to be.

Would Erik forget my birthday tomorrow in this state? I hoped so.

I placed my numb hands over my stomach, wishing for my child to give me a firm kick or nudge, but nothing came. He was so infrequent with his movements, but they had become firmer of late, yet still sporadic.

My tears froze to my cheeks, and I exhaled shakily. My birthday had always been such a wonderful day for me, all my life, save the first one after my father's passing. He had always bought me sweets and played music for me, my favorite songs, until I clapped my hands with joy and forgot how frozen I was. And maman always gave me a book, a little novel for me to occupy myself and slip away from the world with.

Maman...

No, no, I couldn't think of her, because then I thought of everyone I had known. I still kept having dreams of Raoul, but I had been able to pull myself out of them of late, even though I longed to stay.

I shuffled back inside to rid my mind of these thoughts. I was staring at my feet as I went down the hall, hanging my head in my misery, then I gasped as I rounded the corner and found Erik at the bottom of the stairs

"H-hello," I said softly, not knowing what else to say or do.

"It's midnight," he told me curiously. "You're a year older now."

"Yes... I am."

"Twenty-one."

"Yes."

He nodded quietly, "Do you want anything for your birthday?"

My lower lip quivered, "N-no... Nothing y-you could give me."

"I gave you the baby..." he said, pensive.

"Yes, I want... I wanted that. And I want him to be born."

"In March."

"Yes, in March."

He grew suddenly tense, and he took my chin by his fingertips, barely touching, examining my cheeks still rosy with cold.

"Why were you outside?" He asked.

"Because I wanted to be," I replied, wary. "Let me go."

He swiftly did so, and I feared he would snap then and there, but he remained in his strange mood.

"You should stay inside," he told me. "It's too cold. You'll get frostbite- look at your hands, oh, your delicate little hands... Erik can't warm them, or else he would let you stay outside for as long as you want..."

"Erik, are you alright? Have you slept at all-?"

"No more, no more, you must stay inside," he said, nodding to reaffirm this. "You can't be out wandering around, not with the baby, you must keep the baby safe. How cold it is out there, too cold for you, even if you're Swedish. But the baby isn't Swedish, so perhaps it's colder than you, yes, it must be. No more going outside, no more, you can have a lovely birthday in your room-"

"My room, Erik?"

"Yes. I can't lock the front door-"

"Lock?! Erik, what, I don't understand! Y-you can't make me go to my room by force, see, I'm excited, what if I lose the baby?"

This seemed to register in his mind, and he withdrew his hands from slowly reaching out for me.

"You would hurt the baby by struggling?" He asked painfully. "Do you despise it because it's part of Erik, too?"

"No, no, of course not... Erik, I'm frightened, don't shut me away, not on my birthday-"

"You would hurt the child!" He accused wildly. "Like my mother, you would, you would!"

I backed up against the wall, "Please, Erik, you haven't slept, you're not sane-"

"Of course Erik is not sane! Neither are you, staying outside and freezing while with child. You need to keep put! Because you won't obey Erik, you've never obeyed Erik, and he won't let you hurt the baby, never! He won't even touch the baby, because he could ruin it, even though he wants to feel it again... So go upstairs."

"N-no. You'll shut me away."

"Erik promises he won't."

"L-liar," I quaked.

"But Erik has been good to his promises lately!"

"I won't go... Please, Erik, please, you can't shut me away, you know how I hate it-"

"You keep wanting to leave the house!" He cried, pacing in front of me. "You always want to be in the garden, even when it's cold! And you always ask, always, for Erik to take you places, away from here. You hate this place so, though you won't tell me! And you chose the baby, you chose it, so you have to take good care of it and stay home! You promised to be a good mother, you promised!"

"I will, I will, I'm only five months-"

"Six soon! And the sixth month is when you feel unwell again-"

"The seventh month-"

"-terribly unwell, and how can Erik tend to you if you keep trying to be free of our house?"

"If I go upstairs," I said tremulously, nearly in pathetic tears, "you won't let me out."

"You can come out. We have to protect the baby is all, and you've been very careless with it. Erik has ceased his carelessness, so should you. If you keep being careless, though you must not intend it, my love, but oh, if you keep being careless, and you lose it, what will happen?! What if you died from losing it?!"

"Don't you love me?" I pleaded.

"More than anything in the world, that is why we must keep you safe! Yes, go upstairs and we can make such a happy little place for the baby to come into, all pretty and perfect, and safe."

"Erik, I'm safe, I'm fine-"

"You are not! Not even now, when Erik yells at you, but he must, for you need to obey before something terrible happens! How stubborn you can be, how he loves your stubbornness, but it might hurt the baby. And we can't have the baby hurt, for that would hurt you! So you must go upstairs now, like Erik told you."

"What will you do... i-if I don't?"

"Anything that is necessary to protect you both." He replied simply.

I swallowed. There was no point in arguing with him in this state; he could never understand a word.

"Okay," I said softly. "I-I'll go upstairs... Because I love the baby very much, I'll do as you say... But you promise not to lock me in?"

"Of course, my love, of course. We must protect you and the baby."

I nodded weakly, not believing a word. I shuffled up the stairs with him following behind, a skeletal shadow. As I stood at the doorway of my room, I felt his fingertips push against my back, causing me to take a step inside.

The door shut, and the lock clicked.

The baby had not been my freedom, only another cage to escape from. Oh, it was like being under the opera house! Would he let me out?

Why had he lost his mind again?!

I stumbled over to my bed, weak, and curled up with my hands over my stomach, sobbing. He had been sane for a while, so wonderfully sane, and now... now he was so obsessed with my wellbeing, and the baby's, that he seemed to have forgotten I was human at all! I could make my own decisions. I wasn't his mother, or careless, I was Christine. Didn't he love me? Didn't he know I could decide for myself?

I could make my own decisions, before. But I was married now, married and with child, I was his, his, and... and I couldn't choose!

I continued rubbing my stomach, coaxing the child to kick, and he gave me a gentle nudge in reply. I bit my lip and held my womb more tightly, supporting the growing sphere encasing the child inside me. He was warm and safe, warm and safe like I now was...

But I didn't... want to be those things.

Maybe I _was_ being selfish and not paying enough attention to the baby. He ought to consume my mind entirely, and I should always think of him first, always. That's what a good mother does, thinks only of her child...

What... what if I did become a bad mother? What if Erik had broken me and ruined me for it? What if the child was born like him and I turned into his mother, his cruel mother?

For some time, I wept miserably. Then I shut my dewy eyes, hoping for sleep to relax my troubled mind, but I don't believe it ever came. However, when I opened my eyes again, it was morning, and Erik brought in my breakfast for me.

I turned away from him.

"You lied," I told him, refusing to look at him. "You lied to me."

"To protect you and the baby," he replied sadly. "You wouldn't have come up had Erik not lied, and why is it called a lie if it's good? Is it bad for you to be safe up here now? Away from stairs, and the cold, and the temptation to walk around. This is much better for you and the baby."

I kept my eyes down.

"You... you must eat." He said gently. "For the baby."

He was right; I couldn't refuse food, not this time. Not now that I was two people.

He left me alone to eat, and I forced porridge down my throat, though I felt rather sick all of a sudden. But I ate all of it, and he came back to take away my plate, telling me he was going out to buy gifts for me, as he had neglected to do in advance.

I vomited a little while after he had left. I had to clean it all up myself, shivering and trembling all over. When this was finished, I tended to the fire in my fireplace, then curled up underneath my bedsheets, utterly miserable.

Erik returned, and he realized I had been sick, probably from the smell which I had grown accustomed to in that short time. He set all my gifts down on my desk before putting herbs and perfumes over the spot on the floor, clearing away the lingering odor.

"The nausea is natural..." he said softly, mostly to himself. "If it's natural and normal, then the baby is safe, and so are you, my little Christine."

I was done fighting him. There was no argument to be had that he would understand. Lies he could rationale, my freedom, too, everything.

So I nodded belatedly, and said, my voice hoarse, "I need some ginger tea."

"Yes, of course... but little sips, little sips, my love. I'll be back as quick as I can, then you can open all your presents."

He shut the door behind him as he left, and I stumbled over to my desk, hastily scribbling out a note.

"I'm pregnant. Erik's gone mad. I'm safe, but he won't let me out of my room because of the baby. Please help if you can.

Christine"

But how would I get it to the Persian? I knew he must watch the house, to make sure I was not mistreated, though I doubted he could do anything to help even if I was. But perhaps he was still ill, as he had never visited me as he had promised, which was good, but it worried me.

And I didn't have a way to seal it. I didn't have a way to send it. I didn't even know if he could help me! How could he help? Take me away? There was no point in that, none, I was trapped as usual, trapped by my own decision like before.

After tearing up the note, I placed my hands over my womb again. Who knew it would become a ball and chain to me to be with child? My happiness from it was gone.

I sank to my knees before my window, desperate, and I prayed until I heard Erik's footsteps on the staircase. I fell back upon my bed, still feeling quite ill, as he opened the door.

"Here's your tea, my love," he said contentedly, setting it on my desk. "I- have you been writing? Why did you tear it up like that?"

I refused to look at him again.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked. "Is that why you're so quiet?"

Oh, thank goodness he was at least referring to himself as 'me!'

"No," I whispered, my eyes still averted. "Would you play music for me?"

"Do you think that will help the baby?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good, good, we can make the baby love music before it is even born! What would you like?"

"The harp."

"Yes, nice and soothing, a good choice... But you have neglected your gifts! You can open them while I play, I suppose, if you want, whatever you want, my Christine. I'll be back soon, my dear, with the harp for you and the baby."

Please let him regain his sanity before the baby is born, I pleaded in my mind. I couldn't go three months like this, nor even three days. Not trapped like this.

Poor Erik, thinking he had to shut me away for my protection... Surely this was hurting him? Or was he too insane to remember that he loved me, that he now truly loved me and desired my happiness above all else?

How I hated being afraid of him again!

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **So, Christine is a month from being in her third trimester, so in Victorian times apparently women did go into confinement (just in their homes, though) in the third trimester, so that makes it worse for her as her freedom is going away more quickly than it should. I may go back and put some of that in the dialogue, we'll see.**

 **I think I won't, because it should be common sense to Christine. She might mention it next chapter.**


	50. Chapter 50: A Lovely Cage

I rubbed my eyes as I woke from my music-induced slumber, groaning slightly as I sat upright on the bed and pushed a few woolen blankets off me.

I had to stifle a sigh of relief in seeing Erik fast asleep, on his knees, his head tucked up in his arms on the bedsheets. His breathing was relaxed, barely audible, instead of the panicked whimpers that he emitted during nightmares. Thank goodness for that, poor thing.

When he was rested, I could convince him to free me. But... I couldn't help wondering if this really was best, staying inside. Yes, it was a month before I ought to stay home all the time, but hadn't I been neglecting the baby? Hadn't I been careless? All my thoughts had concerned myself, of what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go, and... What if I _would_ be a horrible, selfish mother? What if this wasn't right?

I wanted to look through the little pastel books again, because they always helped me when I was troubled about the baby, but they seemed to have gone missing. Erik must have taken them.

I emitted a sigh that turned into a moan, and I curled up on my side, shifting around to get comfortable, which was becoming less and less easy as the days flew by. Oh, I hoped they would fly by fast! He would let me out once the baby was born.

Once the baby was born... I had always thought that statement and been filled with hope. Now, however, as I began to feel the baby, as a tangible being and not a thing or idea, there was a different emotion; I had condemned this child as much as Erik feared he had.

I had condemned my child to be as trapped as I was.

The truth in this made something dark settle in the pit of my stomach. I had done such a terrible thing...

But I could remedy it! I knew I could be a good mother, a perfect mother, if I tried hard enough. And I would! I could find a way to manage, and Erik ought to recover after all this mess, he had to. Then I would devote all my energy to the baby, all my love, and I would try to never think of myself again. What a relief that would be...

Would that make me happy, though? And how would Erik feel if I spent all my time with the baby and not him?

It was all so twisted up and complicated that I didn't know what to think. Women were supposed to be mothers, that was a fact, and I felt no different, but I feared... I feared I was not so similar to them. I had tried to have my own career, wanted freedom above all else, unlike them, who spent their lives tending to a house and pleasing a husband and caring for children and... I wasn't like that.

What if I wasn't meant to be a mother?

Even with all these tormenting thoughts, I did not regret that I was pregnant. I only felt fear, so much fear and trepidation, both for myself and the child.

I felt very much like I had built a lovely cage and been so caught up in its loveliness that I realized too late that it was meant for me.

Erik stirred as I shifted my skirts over the side of the bed, and I bit my lip for fear he would wake. How stupid I was being! Waking him up when he was peaceful, just to stand up?

His papery eyelids opened, and he was for a moment very content to be so close to me, and nearly tried to kiss my hand. Then he remembered, swiftly pulling away and rising, and instead sought the wall for company.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to fall asleep," he said softly. "I'll leave you alone now, if you want-"

"Can I go downstairs? Please?" I begged.

I saw the wheels in his head turning, and I hastened to make my argument before they ceased.

"You can hold my hand," I pleaded swiftly, "and I'll hold the railing when I go down, and we'll be so terribly cautious, and I promise not to go into the garden or even think of going anywhere at all, I promise, I just can't bear being in here much longer, Erik, I feel like I'm going to cry, and it's upset me so, what if it's upsetting the baby too? And I'm so alone and frightened of being shut away in my room, I want to cry."

His eyes softened, and I had to contain a sigh of relief.

"My love, my Christine," he told me devotedly, "forgive Erik for loving you and the baby so much, or else you could go wherever you wanted-"

"But other women-"

"You're safe here!" He said, emphatic and seeming as if his nap had done nothing for his sanity. "So safe, and comfortable, with a nice bed to lie on all the time, and your knitting to work on, and your books- oh, forgive me, I need to retrieve those for you... I'll care for you here until the baby comes, and we won't need to worry about the stairs or the garden, or caution, only that you're content in here. But the baby will make you content, if I can't."

For a moment, he was rather pleased with himself, as if he thought he had succeeded in consoling me. But his face fell as I burst into tears, curling up around my swollen abdomen.

"Oh, Christine, please, please don't, do you want something?" He offered. "I bought you gifts you still haven't opened, since you fell asleep, would you open them now? Or I'll fetch a cat for you, if that will help, or anything else, anything, please cease... Oh, how terrible this is! You need a baby to be happy, as women do, but, oh, my little Christine, Erik wishes... Erik wishes there wasn't a baby! Then he wouldn't have to be concerned about you, and lock you away, but he must do that to keep you safe. He can't lose you, he can't, not the only person who has ever looked upon him without fear and not hated him, he can't, he can't! He loves you so, and he wants to give you anything! So he gave you the baby, to make you happy, even though it could... it could... take you away... f-from him..."

He started to weep as I was, falling upon the side of the bed and clinging to the sheets, crumpling up in his sorrows.

He was just as conflicted as I... And I hadn't even truly realized the sacrifice that he had made. I had thought he was actually being selfish in wanting to conceive the child, and of course there was some of that, but he had earnestly wanted to ensure my happiness, even if I died trying to earn it. He had actually sacrificed his happiness for mine.

"It's very unlikely I'll die," I told him, feeling an odd sensation trickle through me at these words, fear or confusion I knew not. "You'll get me a good midwife, and with all the advancements now, and being well fed and safe, I'll be perfectly fine."

"A m-midwife?" He asked, snapping out of his tears for a moment. "No, a doctor, doctors are becoming more common now, better, all the wealthy families have doctors come-"

"Erik, a midwife is fine. I was delivered with the help of one in Sweden, and my mother was fine... until she became ill six years later... But I want a midwife. And... and a doctor, Erik, a man, I don't want... I-I don't really want a man helping with it."

"Why not?"

My face burned, "Erik, I'm not going to be decent at all during it. I don't want a man... l-looking at me."

"But... but you've been seen before by... a-a man," he said nervously, quickly moving along. "And is your modesty worth it?"

"A midwife is enough."

"Could you have both? Yes, there ought to be a way for both! Will that appease you?"

"No, Erik, I want-"

"It doesn't matter what you want!"

My mouth shut in hurt confusion, and he instantly regretted his words, I could tell, but they hung in the air, a blatant truth.

It didn't matter what I wanted. I was now owned by two people who needed me.

"Oh, my dear, Erik didn't mean that," he pleaded, "only that-"

"No. You're right." I replied softly. "You're right. It isn't what I want... It should be what's best, which I suppose is a doctor, and I will swallow my pride for the baby... and you."

He sobbed in relief, "How wonderful you are, my Christine, to be so selfless and thoughtful- and they're very polite and respectful, doctors, I hear. They have to be. And of course you can have a midwife, too, as that will appease you to have a woman in the room, for comfort... What happens during birth? Do you know?"

"I just know it hurts is all."

"Surely they have medicine for the pain, or something of that nature."

"Maybe, but I won't take any."

The abysses his eyes rested in widened, "What do you mean? Not take any?"

"Why should I? Women have been doing this for all of time with the pain. It's natural... And surely it's not so bad."

He fidgeted, "You... you don't want to take anything to help you?"

"You seem to know something about birth that you won't tell me."

"Of course not," he replied unconvincingly.

"Is it so bad?... Erik, tell me, you're pale all of a sudden! Give me an answer!"

He went closer to the wall, avoiding my gaze like it would burn him, and he fidgeted for a moment.

"I know very little," he told me quietly. "No more than you."

"Then why are you behaving like this?"

He thought for a moment, then put his arms up in violent decision, "You don't get to know! You will take what they give you, for the baby, and if not for that, because I told you to and I'm your husband!"

He slammed the door behind him as he fled, and I stared at it, stunned.

Oh, now I was afraid of the birth! When would this nightmare end?

Perhaps never...

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Another review about contradictory end statements, and I agree that my end statements definitely are my own opinions, which might not come through in writing. But the review (thanks so much, anonymous, btw) gave me the idea to write a little thing about my Christine, and how I see her. As a reader, you can form your own opinions, but here are mine.**

 **Christine is not selfish overall. I would not classify wanting some happiness for yourself while being kind to the man who forced you into marriage as selfishness. It was an act of desperation, the baby, for something for herself. She's not this perfect selfless being; she has her own mind and will. And though it was on overall selfish choice to have the baby, and she was not truly comprehending the effects (but her mental state was pretty poor around that time, as she had just lost someone and her freedom), she did conceive a baby with Erik, and it's noticeable that she probably tried her best to make it pleasant for him (obviously not so much in the beginning) even though she despised it and only grew accustomed to it over time. That is far from selfish, and I think the whole baby thing really does show that she's not this perfect woman, but flawed in her own way, while being kind and strong regardless.**

 **Erik has actually been incredibly selfless in letting her have the baby. I'm putting that more into the next chapter, though, but here's some. He knows women are supposed to have children to fulfill them, and in letting Christine have one, though he fears her death or harm, he is putting her possible happiness before his. Yes, of course there is a very selfish reason for the baby on his part, and that's what makes him not able to consider the full effects of his actions. But he has changed very much, and though locking her in her room is a terrible idea and he needs the sleep something awful, he is still trying to protect her and love her in his very messed up way.**

 **Christine's internal thoughts do not always reflect mine, by the way, especially in these next few chapters.**

 **Sorry, long rant. Agree or disagree, that's just my take :)**


	51. Chapter 51: Fatigue

I took another nap that afternoon, which was odd, but perhaps due to that fact that I was doing nothing more than lying on my bed, crying at intervals. That activity rarely ends in anything else. And the baby made me tired often, which was actually rather helpful, as one doesn't have to think when asleep, and I was growing increasingly troubled over everything.

When I woke, I was alone, and the sky was reddening from dusk, illuminating the nursery in a warm glow.

It filled me with a bit of hope again, and I hummed to myself as I went to fetch my knitting. I wanted to make another little sweater for the baby, a cream-colored one, mostly as a distraction. Erik had bought me a white rocking chair as a birthday gift, which he had forgotten about until he brought it up after I had begrudgingly opened the others. I liked the idea of the motion soothing the baby, and I felt more like a mother knitting in it, which in turn relaxed me.

I had finished half of it when the gentle sound of a violin slipped underneath the door. I had hoped he was asleep...

I shuffled over to the door, pressing my ear to the surface so I wouldn't have to think. I couldn't identify the song, but it filled my soul wonderfully in that warm way music ought to. As I shut my eyes, it suddenly ceased, and his door opened quietly.

"Erik?" I called. "Won't you play for me?"

He opened my door, bursting with energy, speaking in a frenzied manner as he paced around me, but his words made no coherent sense. I stood to the side in confusion, my hands supporting my womb.

"The doctors and midwives- yes, no- but Christine- and a cradle, a doll- locks, locks, for the garden- no, no, Christine- my Christine doesn't like- but Erik- Erik needs them- and she can't- death, so much, so much- nightmares- does she have-? No, no- yes, a midwife- no, a doctor- but the locks, the locks- and a midwife has experience- Christine is tired, so tired, as Erik is- a midwife is proper, Christine wants a midwife, and she should have whatever she wants- but the dreams- the cradle- chloroform, that's not good, chloroform- and more- more..."

He ceased, turning to me, his eyes glazed with fatigue, "Christine, my love, why are you in here?"

"What do you mean?" I retorted. "You put me in here."

He stared at the wall in confusion for a moment, and I swallowed. What had driven him even more insane?

"Yes, he did..." he said softly, "because of the baby... to protect the baby... But you're upset by it, aren't you?"

"Yes... Erik, are you quite alright-?"

"What a terrible husband Erik is!" He cried. "It's so hard, so hard, with the baby, and you, because you're so obstinate! But will you lie again, will you lie, Christine, my love?"

"Erik, you're scaring me-"

"I slept!" He told me happily, as if to appease me. "While you did, because you asked me to sleep, you did, and I thought it was best to do what you wanted, but... I lose you when I shut my eyes! Every time I shut my eyes, you leave me, and the baby, the baby dies, too, always deformed, and you despise it, because it's Erik's and... and..."

His eyes met mine, and he started sobbing, crumpling up at my feet.

"Shh, Erik, it'll be alright." I told him gently, wanting to console him but knowing he would flee my touch. My skirts were enough.

He ceased, and replied, his voice a whisper, "No... Erik is such a terrible husband."

"Don't say that, you're trying your best-"

"No... no, he... he locked you away because... he can't bear the thought of losing you, he loses you..." he started to cry, standing back up, trembling a little from fatigue. "Every time he shuts his eyes, he loses you."

"Oh, Erik, dear, I'm sorry for your nightmares, you need to stay in my room at night so I can help you with them. You must-"

"But the baby-"

"Is safe in here, in my womb, unable to be harmed by you or me." I pleaded, patting my stomach protectively. "Come here, Erik, place your hand on me again, it'll comfort you. Please, come here."

He pulled away with reluctance, "But it's still not right for him to touch the baby, even through you, it's not good, even if what you say is true..." He buried himself in my skirts again, "Forgive Erik! Forgive him for locking you away, he's so worried about the baby is all, that he forgets, he forgets! How terrible it is for you to be locked away, when you do love the baby, you're just a new mother is all, of course, and you forget sometimes about the baby, and yourself, because of how independent you are, and stubborn, and... and... Oh, forgive Erik, he's such a terrible husband!" He cried, burying himself further in my skirts. "How terrible he is to you and the baby!"

"Erik, dear, you're not terrible, you really are doing your best-"

"But he's upset you, and it wasn't right to shut you away, just because he was afraid for you, because he can't bear being without you! He had such horrible dreams, such horrible, horrible dreams about the baby and you, always about the baby and you, like he said, such horrible dreams..." He let out a heavy sob. "Forgive him, forgive him..."

"You care so much about me, of course I forgive you-"

"N-not about you," he told me, entwining the fabric of my skirts about his fingers. "About what he wants, not you, and you should always have what you want, to make you happy, because you deserve to be so very happy, as you have made Erik so happy... B-but what if you...? What if you l-leave... h-him?"

"I'll be perfectly fine, with a good midwife and doctor tending to me-"

"No, no doctor!" He declared, causing me to take a step back. "Erik changed his mind, he thought about it, because you were so adamant and he loved you so, and he was worried the doctor might not be as kind as the midwives, as gentle, and midwives have more experience, of course, though no formal education, they have experience... And you must be quite comfortable and safe, for the baby, it's no good if you're upset about being seen during it, when you ought to not worry about a thing. And other women have midwives, almost all other women, and it must be fine, perfectly fine, and you want that, so it ought to be given, of course, always. Always what you want, and you must be comfortable, so you will have two midwives to care for you, very good ones."

"Thank you, Erik," I said gently, cautious. "Won't you stand up now?"

He kept himself buried in my skirts, and whimpered, "Why must you have a baby? I know why but... but why?"

"Because it'll make me happy here. And I'm perfectly safe. The baby is safe. You've cared for us very well- as best you can. Of course it's hard to be a perfect husband for you, Erik-"

"Because Erik is hideous-"

"Because you haven't been in a proper family! You don't know what's normal... Let me hold you, Erik, please, you need it. The idea of not touching me is silly. The baby is inside my womb, all tucked away, so you can't harm him at all."

"Are you quite certain, my love?" He asked, looking up at me in suppressed hope.

"Yes, of course I am... Mothers have instincts, don't they?"

"Mothers..." he whispered. "Oh, Christine, might I touch the baby again? Once? If Erik's hands won't hurt it, like you say, only once, though, just once more."

"Of course."

I sat down on the bed and began to rub my stomach, coaxing the little one to kick. But as Erik reached out his hand to me, he suddenly withdrew.

"But what if you're wrong?" He asked miserably. "It's best not to, to be safe, let's go downstairs now- oh! No, not yet, let me set up a nice little place for you, with your knitting and books and things, then you can come down! How happy you will be out of this room, and safe, with anything you want, anything at all!"

He began to go about this with the swiftness that comes with madness, and I sat there, watching him dart back and forth.

Was I free?

When he was contented with whatever he had set up downstairs, he took my arm happily and led me down the stairs with great caution. Then he pulled me over to the sofa, which he had moved a little closer to the fireplace and surrounded with a basket of knitting and a pile of books. As soon as I sat down, he rested his head on the sofa cushion beside mine, unable to stand in his exhaustion.

"You're happy now?" He asked.

"Yes," I replied, relieved, "and I promise I won't go upstairs without asking."

"Or outside." He added.

"Yes, of course."

He nodded happily, relaxing a little as I started knitting the cream sweater again.

"It's alright to sleep, Erik," I told him, keeping my eyes on my task. "I'll wake you if you have a nightmare."

I looked over at him and realized he was already asleep.

I continued knitting, greatly contented by the fact that he was asleep and at last seemed to have come to his senses somewhat. And I was at free now, somewhat, so long as he didn't change his mind.

What a nightmare the day had been! Fortunately it had only been a day, and not three months. I couldn't imagine being trapped in my room for three months, and of course Erik would never be able to bear that. He did truly love me; he did.

He woke after a couple hours, a little unsteady from sleep. His eyes had some light in them again, and I smiled warmly as he rose.

"How happy you are now," he said, his voice far more relaxed.

"Yes. And look! I finished the sweater."

He nodded, then checked his watch, his eyes widening, "Oh, forgive me, let me make you dinner. How neglectful Erik is..."

He went off to the kitchen, and I exhaled.

"Let's hope this lasts a while," I whispered to my child.

And it did last, for an entire week, no less, to which I was incredulous. Erik reverted back to when he was excited over the baby, and kept adding more and more to the nursery until I finally decided that we ought to make the little room adjacent to mine it instead. When I suggested this, however, he stared at me for a moment, blinking once, twice.

"Why?" He asked softly.

"Well, there's so much in my room already," I said, "and he'll have to stay in his own room eventually-"

"But don't you want him with you?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"We can make a room to put the child's things in." He offered. "But the cradle stays in your room."

My chest filled with heat, but I sighed, "Fine, Erik. The cradle stays in my room."

It wasn't like I didn't want the cradle in my room. It was just that Erik had decided for me, again, though he probably didn't realize it. And there was the fact was that I couldn't argue for fear he would have a sudden lapse in sanity from some misinterpreted sentence of mine.

"Are you upset?" He asked cautiously. "You sighed."

"No, I'm not upset."

He eyed me, but accepted my answer, "Do you want dinner?"

"It's a little early, isn't it?"

"Well, yes."

"What if we played music for a while?" I suggested. "You only ever play for me anymore, it seems, or shut yourself up in your room with your violin. I want to sing with you."

"Of course!" He said happily. "Let me help you downstairs, my love, then we can play any piece you want."

"Any piece?"

"Within reason."

I folded my lips childishly, teasing him, and he stared at me in a bit of confusion as we neared the top of the stairs.

"Why are you doing that?" He asked.

"I'm thinking."

"Of a piece?"

"Mmhm."

"Which one?"

"We'll see," I teased.

"Are you playing? Like you sometimes do?"

"Mmhm. Do you not like me playing with you?"

"No... no, it's nice."

He took my arm and led me downstairs, one step at a time, like I was wounded. Then he pulled me over to the piano, and sat down on it, looking up at me in expectation.

Something caught my eye, a sheet of music sticking out slightly from the rest, and I reached for it. Erik grabbed my wrist.

"That's not a duet," he remarked, quickly releasing me. "Let's play a duet, my little Christine."

"But what is it? You've made me curious now."

"You should stop being so curious, then," he retorted, failing to conceal his irritation.

"Why won't you let me see it?"

"Because I don't want you to."

"Don't you love me?"

"My Christine, of course-"

"Then let me see!"

"What does that have to do with loving you?" He whimpered. "Put it from your mind, it's nothing... Are you going to cry?"

"N-no... I don't know! I'm... I-I'm..."

"Don't cry, don't cry! I'll show you, my love, if it will appease you, because you wish to embarrass Erik and make him look foolish-"

"I do not-"

"Here," he sighed, placing it in my hands while looking away.

My lips parted, "Erik... You wrote a lullaby for the baby? Why were you ashamed? Play it for me, please, play it-"

"You have to sing," he said softly, eyes averted.

"But I don't know it-"

"You'll learn it."

"Now?"

"No. Now we sing together."

"But I want to sing this now."

He opened his mouth to protest, but then his thin lips shut in resignation.

"If you insist," he said softly.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **I think Christine's going a little nuts too, don't you agree? Let's hope Erik continues sleeping. Wonder why his nightmares went away...**

 **Hopefully two more chapters this weekend about... Christmas! I've always wanted to do that.**


	52. Chapter 52: Mistletoe

Erik seemed to change moods in phases of varying length, I observed. I hoped he would remain in this one for some time, all ecstatic over the baby and the fact that once it was born I would be finally happy.

But... what if something _did_ go wrong? What if I didn't accept an... an imperfect child? And what if I... what if I did die? Or it hurt horribly?

Don't think of that, think of anything else, nothing will go wrong, nothing at all. Think of something else...

Christmas. It was the eighth of December and Christmas would come in a couple weeks. Would Erik want to celebrate? He hadn't mentioned anything to me about it, only rambled on and on about the baby, and my health.

At the moment, he was out shopping, though he went out infrequently due to not wanting to leave me alone with those tempting stairs. The baby, and the responsibility in that, surely would help him think of me as a woman, an adult, and not a child. In his mind, at least now, he considered me a woman, but his actions were still to a child whom he couldn't fully trust.

When he stepped through the front door, fake nose on, carrying a few parcels and a brown bag, I wasted no time in asking him about the approaching holiday.

"Erik?" I asked sweetly, with care. "What are we doing for Christmas?"

"Oh," he replied, setting the parcels down on the coffee table for the time being. "Did you want to do something?"

"Well, yes. Of course."

"What?" He inquired simply.

"Celebrate Christmas, what do you mean, 'what?'"

"Don't be upset with Erik-"

"I'm not upset-"

"He forgets about things like Christmas because he's never truly had them." He told me, his voice surprisingly calm and sane. "But you may have whatever you like for Christmas, though you have to stay in the house."

"Of course... You say you haven't had a Christmas?"

"I've had Christmases..." he said softly, taking an awful long time to remove his gloves.

"But we can have a happy one here," I told him, nodding. "Please, Erik, there's nothing that makes me happier than Christmas, most years-"

"Why do you say please?" He asked in confusion. "Like I've said no? You may have whatever Christmas you want, my little Christine, whatever will make you happy. What would you like to do?"

I beamed, "I want a tree, not a big one, just a little pine. And tinsel and ribbons for it, and candles, but I don't want any gifts, if that's alright, just to celebrate-"

"No gifts?"

"Well... I suppose a couple, if you want. I could use a few new dresses soon; they're getting tight so fast-"

"Are you constricted at all?" He asked in concern.

"Oh, no, this dress is fine." I said hastily. "It fits comfortably still."

He nodded, "If you say so... But why only a couple gifts? Don't you like gifts?"

"I have so many wonderful things you've given me, more than I could ever want," I told him carefully, then glanced down at my stockinged feet a moment, pensive. "Erik, could we...? Well, I've... I've sort of thought about it, though not really, I've been so preoccupied, but... Well, you know I love making you happy. Other people happy."

"My sweet little Christine," he said affectionately, "what do you want?"

I clasped my hands to my chest, "Would you mind... if we donated some things?"

"Donate?"

"It's just- you know- all the poor children on the street without parents, and they don't receive anything, not even dried berries and nuts as I did as a girl, and... It would make me so very happy. But it's not my money, it's yours, and," I sighed, "wives aren't _supposed_ to talk about money, but... Erik, dear, could we please?"

"I don't quite understand."

"What do you mean?"

"You have to stay inside. You can't go out and buy gifts for them."

"Oh... I suppose not... Well, I sort of meant, though I didn't explain it at all, that whatever you intended to spend on presents for me, you would... give away."

"Would that make you happier than gifts?"

"Yes... but if you want to get me a couple things, you can. I know how happy that makes you."

He stared at me in curiosity, "You're very peculiar, my little Christine... But yes, that's fine. Anything to make you happy. Anything!"

I beamed, then my smile flickered away.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing." I replied, faking a smile. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing doesn't make you look like that. What upset you?..." His eyes widened in concern, "Did Erik upset you? Is that why you ceased smiling?"

"You didn't upset me..." I sighed, my eyes welling up with tears. "It must be the baby with... with my mood changes that sometimes... h-happen."

"Don't cry, don't cry," he looked about for something to amuse me with as I went to sit down and take deep breaths. "Please, my love, you mustn't cry."

Whenever I got in my strange moods, at first it began with tears, anger, or joy over nothing. Then my mind reminded me what to be upset about, or perhaps what I had unknowingly thought of.

Maman... she wouldn't be sharing Christmas with me.

"Let me play for you!" He said frantically. "The lullaby, yes, for the baby, you wanted me to sing it before, though I refused, won't you let me now? For you?"

I nodded, fighting my tears with a steadily dampening handkerchief.

He sat down at the piano, swiftly starting the unfinished lullaby. At least, he said it was unfinished...

"Je ne te partirai pas,

mon enfant.

Je ne te partirai jamais.

Je te tiens quand tu pleures,

Et je t'aimerai pour toujours.

Je t'aimerai, je t'aimerai,

Pour toujours, mon enfant,

je t'aimerai.

Quand il pleut, je serai là

À tenir mon cher enfant.

Et quand il y a la foudre,

Je te serrerai dans mes bras.

Je t'aimerai, je t'aimerai,

Pour toujours, je t'aimerai.

Quand il fait sombre, et tu as peur,

Je chanterai ce chanson.

Je chanterai ce chanson pour toi,

Car tu n'as pas peur de ma voix.

Je t'aimerai, je t'aimerai,

Pour toujours, je t'aimerai."

(*I will not leave you,

my child.

I will never leave you.

I hold you when you cry,

And I will love you forever.

I will love you, I will love you,

Forever, my child,

I will love you.

When it rains, I'll be there

To hold my dear child.

And when there is lightning,

I'll hold you in my arms.

I will love you, I will love you,

For ever, I will love you.

When it is dark, and you are afraid,

I will sing this song.

I will sing this song for you,

For you are not afraid of my voice.

I will love you, I will love you,

For ever, I will love you.)

Why did I think that would be a good idea? Now I was weeping like a proper idiot, and he was pacing around me, flustered and distressed.

"Do you not like the lullaby anymore?" He asked sadly.

"I love the l-lullaby, Erik, I love it s-so much, I-I..." I sobbed harder.

"My love, my love," he pleaded, burying himself in my skirts. "Please cease, please, what can I do to help? I must be able to help, please, what must I do?"

"I w-want..."

Don't say it, Christine, don't you dare-

"I miss my-"

Don't-

"M-mother."

His face, what he had of a face, fell, and his lips parted.

"Your real mother?" He asked, sounding quietly curious and not at all upset.

"No, m-my... my maman."

"Oh... But you're not supposed to think of her."

My chest filled with heat, but I quieted it, "It's h-hard with Christmas coming. I a-always spent my Christmases with my... father as a girl, then with her, and now... Erik, you can't expect me not to think of those I love besides you."

He bowed his head, "Because it upsets you."

"Very much."

I dabbed at my eyes, my breathing calming. He was deep in thought for a moment, his bony hands still clinging loosely to my skirts, then he glanced up at me.

"You've ceased crying," he observed.

"I... I suppose I have."

He rose happily, "Good! How terrible it is when you cry, my Christine..."

Then he fidgeted with his sleeve for a moment.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

His eyes avoided mine like it was a game, "Will you... sing the lullaby... e-even if the baby... isn't perfect?"

"Of course, and I'll love him-"

"Oh, but Erik can't have given you an imperfect baby! You should have a perfect little one, not like him, and..." He moaned. "What if he gave you one that looks like _him_?"

"But I love you, so why shouldn't love the baby?"

He looked up at me, then back down, "Yes, I suppose... that makes sense, perfect sense... but it took you a very long time to love Erik, it can't take that long for the baby, you must love it immediately-"

"The baby is what I'll have carried for nine months in my womb, Erik. I already love it, so how can that love go away?"

"You didn't love Erik once you realized he wasn't the angel that you had loved." He answered, as if that had been weighing on his mind.

"But this is different."

"Perhaps," he said softly, then he rose and went to put away his purchases.

The week wore on, and Erik remained in this state, which was almost pleasant at times, save the fact that he kept prodding me with incessant questions. But fortunately, when I gave a reasonable answer, he was sane enough to understand it.

He did not, however, allow himself to sleep at the edge of my bed, or even in my room, which concerned me. His sanity, though, remained surprisingly intact, even if he was having nightmares alone.

I, however, was having dreams. And what lovely and terrible dreams...

I dreamt I was having a Christmas with my family. We were all in a cabin, all warm from a large fire, and in the corner was a dark pine glittering with tinsel and ribbons, with candles upon its branches. I reached out to touch a branch, feeling it soft underneath my palm, like a feather. My father was playing the violin to the delight of three guests: my mother, maman, and...

Raoul. He wore a ring, and to my delight, it was _my_ ring. My Raoul!

"You kiss me like I've been gone for weeks," he teased, brushing a curl from my face.

"Because I love you..." The smell of something burning reached us. "Oh! I forgot the cookies, one moment."

"Cookies, dearest, why are you making cookies in your condition?"

I glanced down at my round abdomen. Raoul's baby...

"Oh, yes." I told him. "Could you help me?"

"Why don't you have your mother help you, my love."

"Of course."

I kissed him once more for good measure, heading into the kitchen. For some reason, however, I forgot to ask my mother for help.

Upon finding the room curiously unlit, I called for someone to bring a candle. Then suddenly I realized that the violin had ceased. The hum of voices had ceased.

"Raoul?" I whispered.

I screamed as Erik snaked his hands about me, covering my mouth with his bony hands, cursing me for being unfaithful, while I had no idea what he was talking about.

"I'm married to Raoul!" I cried, trying to wrest free from his grasp. "I'm married... to Raoul!"

The words he used, the terrible names he called me, mocking me, oh, I wanted to weep, and I started to weep. My tears dissolved the dream like rain upon a freshly painted canvas, and I woke up panting.

As I glanced about my room, taking in the nursery, the bright windows, all lit up with morning light, I exhaled shakily.

"He doesn't know," I whispered, wincing. "How foolish I am... how cruel..."

After dressing and massaging my sore feet, which still had a few fading white scars from what seemed an eternity ago, I went downstairs to see what else Erik had added to the drawing room, which was slowly turning into Christmas itself. And we still had a week left before the twenty-fifth.

I looked up at the doorway, bewildered at seeing a cluster of leaves with white berries bound with a proper cherry-red bow.

"Erik?" I asked softly. "Do you know what this is?"

He turned to me from the pine tree, which was bare, as I had insisted on decorating it myself. But he had been adjusting it slightly, shifting it to the side to... to catch the light better, I suppose?

"Don't people put that in their doorways?" He said.

I smiled weakly, "It's mistletoe, Erik. If we walk through at the same time you have to kiss me."

"Oh, of course," he told me hastily, "but that's just a silly thing people do, I only put it there to make it more normal, as other people have that-"

"Why won't you kiss me anymore?"

He averted his eyes, "I'll kiss you after the baby."

"Not on my forehead? Why would that hurt? The baby is in my womb, and can't be touched anyway."

His eyes filled with pitiful hope, "You truly think it won't?"

"I won't move until you kiss me," I told him triumphantly, shutting my eyes to prove my point.

He came over to me in his timid fashion, and the kiss was brief, like a breeze. So different from Raoul's kisses...

My eyelids fluttered open, strangely frightened that perhaps he could read my mind. But he simply backed away from me, timid as usual, as if we had never done anything more than chaste kisses.

I reached up to remove a berry, but was unable to reach.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"You have to remove one for each kiss." My feet were too sore for me to jump up for it. "We should have five left now, it looks like."

His thin lips parted as he popped a berry off the leaves for me.

"Thank you."

"Five more..." He said softly, examining the little pearl.

"Could we have breakfast before we decorate the tree?" I asked.

"Of course, my dear."

He hurried away to do so, and I went over to the tree in a sleepwalking fashion. Then I shut my eyes and reached out to touch it, like in the dream.

But it was spiny against my hand, not soft like a feather, so my eyes opened, and I sighed.

A mew came from behind me. It was a miracle we remembered to feed those two cats, and we never even saw them anymore. They hid in cabinets and sometimes plopped down in front of lit windows to sun themselves. But mostly they went about like furry shadows.

"Where's your sister, Blå?" I asked.

He mewed.

Come to think of it, I hadn't seen the ginger cat in over a month. Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of gray fur, or find him lapping up the water we left out for him, but where was the other?

Maybe I was heartless for forgetting.

"Erik?" I called, coming into the kitchen.

"What, my love, is something wrong?" He asked.

"Have you seen the ginger cat?"

"What ginger cat?"

Not again...

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **The next chapter should be Christmas Eve, then Christmas. And hopefully there will be no more than five chapters until the birth, but it could be a couple more than that. This might be the last chapter of the weekend, but hopefully I can get one more up.**


	53. Chapter 53: Two Birds with One Stone

**"** What?" I said through my teeth.

He started to dart about the kitchen, pulling out bowls and spoons, then replacing them, as if trying to find the perfect one. And he stirred the porridge between this, fidgeting nervously.

"What do you mean, 'what ginger cat?'" I demanded again.

"We have a gray cat." He replied simply.

"And a ginger cat. Where-is-she?"

"You play such fun little games," he said, chuckling. "Go sit down and wait for me to finish breakfast-"

I stamped my foot like a child, "I will not until you finally stop treating me like this! I'm your wife, not a child to be ridiculed! We have two cats, now where is the other one? Did you murder it like the two birds, don't think I've forgotten them!"

"One bird..." he said softly, setting down the bowl. "And Erik returned him..."

"Erik, please," I sighed, "where is that cat?"

He started to sob, "Forgive Erik, my love, forgive him, he only wants to make you happy, and he didn't know it would make you angry!"

"Then where is the cat?!"

"Erik... he... No, you're wrong, my love, there's no other cat." He laughed. "None! Just the gray one."

I crossed my arms, "Why do you lie to me?"

"Christine-"

I slammed the door behind myself as I left, furious at him, at the cats, at life. I wanted to shut my eyes and make it all go away. Why couldn't everything just disappear?

I plopped down onto the sofa with a moan, though my eyes remained dry. Then I exhaled, picking up my knitting and starting a little blue sock. As I hummed the lullaby under my breath, the baby kicked in reply, cooling my frustration instantly.

"There you are, little one," I said softly. "How big you're getting. I can barely fit in my dresses anymore because of you."

He ceased his nudges, and I sighed.

Erik came out of the kitchen all flustered still, setting down my bowl and spoon, and the napkin beneath, with care and attentiveness.

"Erik, dear," I said gently, going over to him, "I'm sorry for yelling."

"Sorry? Christine, my love, my darling, only Erik should be sorry."

"Will you tell me, then?"

"You'll be upset," he moaned. "Why must you know? You always insist on knowing these things, always... Just forget the cat."

"Tell me the truth, please. I can't let this go, tell me... I promise not to be upset."

"You've promised many things..." he whispered. "And only sometimes stayed true... But if it will content you... if it will help... the cat... it..."

"What, Erik dear?"

His mind changed swiftly, "You imagined the cat."

"I did not imagine it! How can you say such a thing?"

"But you don't even know its name."

"I've forgotten... Tell me where it is!"

"In your mind."

I cried out angrily, sobbing.

"Oh, my Christine, don't cry, don't... Alright! Alright, the cat is... the cat is... it was real, but it's... dead."

 _Finally._

"How?" I asked, sniffling.

"Erik... f-found it all sick and... and he knew you liked the cats, even though they're mean, such mean things, he knew you would be upset if they died, so he took... he took the ginger one into the cellar to hide it, and he tried to save it, but it died, so he... he hoped you would forget..." he said pitifully. "He hoped you would think it was made up..."

"It died its own? And you tried to save it? Why would I be upset at that?"

"Because you don't like it when things die."

I averted my eyes, pensive, "Everything dies eventually, I suppose... I'm sorry, Erik, for yelling at you. I'm not upset. Thank you for telling me the truth and... and helping the cat... But... Would you explain to me about the birds now?"

"Bird. That was just a silly thing you made up, because you were under the opera house for so long. But you're here now, so forget about the bird."

"Fine..." I sighed irritably. "I'll forget, because you told me about the cat."

It was rather hard to force oneself to forget things, especially when I knew I was right.

The week continued, onward to Christmas and whatever misery it held, though hopefully precious little. We removed two more berries from the mistletoe, at my rather vehement insistance, for I knew how happy kisses made him.

Soon it was Christmas Eve, and I was in a cherry-red dress, like the velvet bows ornamenting the drawing room and holding up the mistletoe. Erik had covered the dining room table in sweets: chocolates, cookies, cream puffs, too much for me to ever eat. And the dress had been an early gift from him, fitting my widening figure perfectly.

Though I had had not a taste of wine or champagne (my stomach was opposing alcohol at the moment), I was drunk on joy. But it was not joy of the heart, only the mind, a deception, truly, that I was happy. I was merely cheerful. It was an illusion for both myself and him.

Erik filled the room with music, the glorious music only he could produce, as I nibbled on chocolates. His bony yellow fingers ran over the silver violin strings with dexterity and gracefulness, his entire skeletal form swaying with emotion.

I clapped my hands and smiled, "That was lovely, Erik."

He smiled gently in reply, letting the red instrument fall to his side, "Do you want more music, my love?"

"Oh, yes please, but let me get another chocolate-"

"I'll get it, you sit, my dear little Christine."

He darted off before I could protest, but truly it was nice to have him fetch things for me. Sometimes my ankles swelled up a bit, though I never let him know, and my back had a pain at the base of it from the extra weight in front. I had never known being pregnant would be so terribly uncomfortable...

"Here, my little Christine," he said happily, placing a small plate of three chocolate truffles into my hands. "I'll play more for you now. Any requests, my dear?"

"Actually, could you show me some tricks?"

"Tricks? Ventriloquism?"

"Yes, please."

"Of course, my love."

He promptly began to throw his voice around, sweeping it through my ears and making inanimate objects live. I giggled, and he attempted to control my laughter and extract it from me, for he loved the sound so, but I was not an instrument to be played, and my laughs varied as such.

When he had exhausted his voice, he went to tend to the fire, which had shrunk into red embers. Once it was crackling and flickering again, he rose, the corners of his thin lips upturned.

Then his face promptly fell, for I started to stare at the carpet beneath my feet, tracing the designs with my eyes, my features slack.

"Are you still happy?" He asked.

I nodded, "It's just hard... You have to understand, it's hard for me every year on Christmas. I sometimes feel melancholy, and I can't help it, Erik dear, I'm sorry."

"Do you need more chocolates?"

"No, Erik, I-"

"One moment, my love."

He hurried off, and I sighed irritably, rubbing my womb. The baby gave no reply to my movement, so I removed my hand, my eyes returning to the carpet to trace it.

"Here you are," Erik said happily, handing me a plate of sweets. "There, eat those, they'll make you smile again."

"Erik, I'm very tired all of a sudden."

"Oh."

"I'm going to put on my nightgown and get into bed." So I could be alone to mourn my sorrows. "Would you sing me to sleep?"

"Of course, my love," he told me eagerly. "The baby must be making you tired... Let me help you upstairs, hold my arm."

I took his arm in mine, shuffling along on my swollen feet. He glanced down at my stockings, having noticed my discomfort.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing..." I replied wearily. "What do you mean?"

"You seem pained."

"Pained? I'm just shuffling because of all this extra weight-"

"Do your feet hurt?"

"No."

He glanced down at them again, not believing me.

"If you insist..." he said quietly, helping me upstairs.

Once he had left my room, probably to extinguish the candles on the Christmas tree, I undressed and slipped into my nightgown, the new one that accommodated my figure far better, though it made my hips appear even wider than they were.

I called for Erik before slipping into bed, and he came in with the harp, which he had moved into the drawing room for the time. He set it in the corner and started to make sure it was tuned.

"Erik?" I asked, slightly recovered from my earlier melancholy. "I forgot to kiss you downstairs."

"Oh, that's no matter-"

"We have three berries left still. I promised we would remove all of them before Christmas ended."

"Yes..." he said softly. "You did promise, but Christmas is left for tomorrow-"

"You don't want one tonight?"

"Not tonight."

I bit my lip, thinking of another way to convince him as he continued tuning the harp.

"Erik, you gave me an early gift," I told him. "I haven't given you one. Surely you can see that's not fair?"

"Life isn't fair, for Erik especially."

"And what if _I_ want a kiss? Would you deny me?"

"No..." he said softly, averting his eyes, "but you don't want my kisses."

"Excuse me?"

"Why would you want Erik's kisses? From his cold lips of death?"

"Your lips are perfectly fine. It's because I want to make you happy that I want kisses."

"Yes. Make me happy... not you."

"You think I don't want affection just as much as you?" I retorted angrily. "Do you think it doesn't hurt me that you won't touch me now because of the baby?!"

"Why do you yell?" He whimpered.

"Because I want-! I want..."

Raoul... to be held and kissed... and the only person who could give me that in reality was Erik.

"I want to be loved, Erik." I told him. "Just as much as you."

"Is Erik not loving you by denying you touches and kisses?" He asked, horrified. "But you were so happy, and you never complained before, don't you hate how Erik feels? Like a corpse, oh, my poor Christine, having to be loved by a corpse, forgive Erik-"

"Don't call yourself that, you're not a corpse, you're very much alive..." I sighed, "If you don't want a kiss, just sing."

"But you'll be upset if I don't kiss you."

"Yes."

"Then I have to."

"And it should be a real kiss," I told him firmly, though suddenly unsure of myself. "It's my early present for you, so it should be real."

"But the baby-"

"How is it going to hurt the baby? He's already part of you. What's your mouth going to do that... that the other... the, um, well, the... Oh, what's different about your mouth?"

"Maybe I will just sing..." he said softly.

Then from downstairs came three loud knocks on the front door. Bewildered, I looked to Erik for an explanation, and he darted downstairs, commanding me to remain.

I followed him silently, from a distance, and kept myself hidden by the hallway wall, near the top of the staircase. My racing heartbeat made me forget the soreness in my feet.

Erik took a moment, probably to put on his false nose, then pulled the door open forcefully.

"Why are you here?" He asked furiously. "You're interrupting my wife's sleep!"

"Are you keeping her locked up?" The Persian replied, and I stifled a gasp. "You monster, why has she not left this house?!"

"How dare you watch Erik! And his wife, how dare you! Perhaps she's not leaving because she doesn't want to, hm? Did you think of that, you great Persian dolt?!"

"Let her speak for herself."

"She's asleep! My wife is asleep and quite content, and you needn't concern yourself with her! Erik can take good care of his own wife."

"Then why has she not left this house in over a month?"

"Because-"

I revealed myself, against my better judgement, and the Persian's eyes turned to saucers. I flushed.

"I'm fine," I told him, suddenly very conscious of how evident my pregnancy was.

"See?" Erik said hastily. "Now go away! Stop meddling with our lives! Can't you see my wife needs rest?"

"Why is she with child?" He demanded.

"D**n you! You insufferable, rude bas-"

"Erik!" I cried.

"You should be in bed!" He shot back at me. "You wouldn't hear me curse if you were asleep!"

"Apologize to me or I'll walk down these stairs!"

The Persian looked back and forth between us two, stunned, and Erik only maintained a moment of stoicism before shattering.

"I'm sorry, my love, please don't be unreasonable." He pleaded to me. "You're very tired; you need to sleep."

"Might I speak to Monsieur Nadir before I do?" I asked.

"No. You're not dressed."

"I'll put on a shawl, then."

I turned to go do so, and heard Erik going on and on about 'his wife' and Christmas, and it seemed he was now parading the Persian around to show him how normal the house was, and all the Christmas decorations.

When I reached the top of the stairs in my emerald shawl, Erik came up and took my arm, helping me downstairs and clinging to me.

"There, my love. Tell him," he said, sounding giddy. "Tell him about how lovely Christmas will be, and how Erik gives you everything you ask for, because he loves you!"

I sighed, "Monsieur, I am quite exhausted at the moment, but I promise I am content here. Erik cares for me perfectly well, to the best of his abilities, and I am in this state of my own will. I am quite safe and healthy, with all my wants and needs."

"See?" Erik said happily. "See, daroga? I have a happy wife and a normal house! Now cease pestering us and leave us alone."

"Erik?" I asked gently. "Couldn't he come calling sometimes? As a friend?"

"The daroga isn't a friend. He only saved Erik's life and now tries to watch his every move! Does saving another's life now permit invading it?"

"Erik, dear, please, won't you permit us one caller? One friend? It's so hard for me to be with only one person, even if I love you, I'm used to being with many people."

He was pensive for a moment, "Fine, to please my wife! But only once a week! No more! And if you're rude as usual, you cannot come again! Goodbye, daroga."

"Merry Christmas," I added.

"Merry Christmas, madame." The Persian said turning to leave. "Goodbye."

His jade eyes were filled with something for me, and I wondered what it was for a moment before realizing, to my confusion, that it was reverence.

Reverence for what? Being selfish and pining for a man I could never have at night?

But he didn't know that... And no one ever would.

As I shuffled back upstairs, Erik bursting with happiness at proving that he was normal now and had a happy wife, I wondered why it had taken the Persian so long to knock on that door. He had gone over a month having not seen me leave, and surely I was showing before then? How had he not known?

I slipped underneath my bedsheets and into my dreams.


	54. Chapter 54: Christmas Morning

I woke up in the middle of the night, sighing in discontent as I sat upright and rubbed my eyes. Was the baby giving me insomnia again?

He kicked a little, so I assumed he must have woken me. As I undid my nightgown to better feel him, I was puzzled by the fact that it seemed there were two kicks on different sides. Perhaps he was using his hands, too? Or both feet?

I fastened my nightgown up, adjusting my sleeping position and settling on my left side. I thought it might take a while for me to fall back asleep, but by the time I had started to worry over this I had already done so.

Upon waking, for a moment I actually forgot what day it was. I went to gaze out my window, finding it fogged up from the cold, as usual, so I rubbed my sleeve over it, a smile coming over my features at seeing the street coated in a thin layer of white. The light reflected off this and made icicles dangling from powdered roofs glitter.

An inexplicable joy filled me at this, like that of a child. Snow on Christmas!

I put on the dress from last night, as I had only worn it then, and even pinched my cheeks to give them some color. Then I pinned up my hair, curled some strands, and for the first time in a long while, smiled at my reflection in the frosted window. My face had filled back out, all rosy and healthy, and I was round due to the pregnancy. And how round I was! The baby must have been growing fast.

"Erik?" I called as I stepped outside my bedroom, shutting the door behind myself. "Are you downstairs?"

The sound of the piano swept into the hall, accompanied by Erik's voice. He had not used his music to purposefully draw me since the opera house, but he must have forgotten about that now. His voice and the piano melded together into one marvelous song, and I could tell that he was entirely focused, for I could not resist the spell of it, all his emotion and passion going into his work in such a flawless way. Yes, the music was flawless. Even though my father had said that it's impossible to perfect music, Erik had.

It was almost as if the music was pulling me by a string, and I felt myself forgetting the rule about the stairs, floating down them in a daze, my palm grazing the cool railing.

I had heard the tune before, though I couldn't remember where from. I thought it must be a Christmas song about the birth of Christ, or something similar, but it was so terribly mournful and solemn that I had difficulty believing that. And the words were in Italian, which I only knew a few phrases in from opera pieces, but no more than that. I had no idea what it meant, but it was _beautiful._

He must have heard my soft footsteps as I came down the hall, because he swiftly ceased and turned to me, _masked._ This one was white, however, and glossy in the morning glow.

"Christine!" He cried, coming over to me so quickly that I stepped backwards in fear. "Why are you down here?! You didn't call for me! You promised, you promised you wouldn't come down without holding onto me! And you break your promise on _Christmas_?"

"Your music, Erik," I pleaded, nearly in tears, "I didn't mean to, don't shut me away, your music-"

"Forgive Erik," he begged, "forgive him! He didn't realize you would be awake, it's so early. He won't play like that again, not while you you're in your room, so that you can be safe."

He wasn't upset at me... I had thought surely- surely he would be...

"Of course I forgive you," I replied. "The piece was beautiful."

"Yes..." he said sadly, then his tone turned to elation, "Oh, how beautiful you look! It's a shame the dress won't fit after the baby-"

"Can't you have it taken in?"

"Perhaps... Did you see your gifts?!" He exclaimed suddenly. "They wouldn't fit on the tree, only under it, except one. Is that fine?"

"That's wonderful, Erik dear."

I went over to one of the windows, rubbing away the fog from it to look back out upon the snow-covered road.

"Why do you call me that?" He asked quietly.

"What?" I replied, confused as I turned around to him. "Oh, you mean... Do you not like me calling you 'Erik dear?'"

"No, it's nice... but why 'Erik dear?' You used to say 'dear' only, and you still say my name, but... Why?"

"Because I love you..." I sighed, extending my arms out in tired emphasis. "In ways I cannot comprehend."

He melted to my feet, "Oh, my Christine, you don't know how wonderful it is to hear you say such things, even if they aren't- but it's so wonderful-"

"Erik, why are you masked?"

He looked up at me nervously, "I thought you would prefer a different color. You hated the black ones."

"Because they hid your face, not because of their color-"

"And why is that not a good thing? To you? You shouldn't have to see Erik's face, not when you call him 'dear,' oh, won't you please say that again?"

"Erik, dear... take off your mask."

He rose, and said firmly, "No. Not this time."

I reached for it, and he backed away.

"No, Christine!" He exclaimed. "Erik has to wear his mask now, because... Oh, what if you get frightened and have the baby too early? Then it would be his fault! That happens to women, when they get hurt or frightened, so it's best if he's masked."

"I'm not afraid-"

"It's just to be safe... until the baby comes."

"Then you promise to remove it when the baby comes?"

He shifted his gaze, "Yes."

I knew he was lying, but I had changed my mind regardless. If I did have some horrible incident, he couldn't feel guilt for it if he was wearing the mask, not for both giving me the baby and perhaps thinking his face the cause. One was far too much already.

"Then you can keep it on," I told him. "But to be clear, I don't care if it's on or off."

"Thank you, my little Christine, my sweet Christine, for looking upon Erik without fear, how brave and wonderful you are, I- Gifts! Yes, you need your gifts now, how horrible of Erik to keep you waiting, going on and on about how wonderful you are instead of letting you have them!... You know, the Persian man might visit today, he has a habit of butting in, even though Erik told him not to come more than a week... Oh, but would that make you happy? To have a guest?"

"I don't mind. If he comes, though, I would like to have a guest. But don't make him come."

"Don't worry about _that..._ Come see your gifts! How lovely they are, aren't they? See? This one has a pretty silver bow, and this one a red one, and that one is wrapped in white, like normal gifts... And three! Three like Erik promised, isn't he getting very good at promises?"

"Yes. You're doing very well."

He watched me for a moment while I stared at the tree, his features masked so I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling.

"Are you not going to open them?" He asked.

"Oh, I was just admiring them."

I plucked the little white box from the tree, planting myself on the sofa as Erik brought the other two over, both a good deal larger, like dresses. I opened the first box and dipped my hand inside to find a little porcelain bird, but as I held it up, it jingled as if something was trapped inside it.

"What's inside?" I inquired, giving way to curiosity.

"You have to break it to see."

"Oh, why would I do that? It's such a pretty bird."

"I suppose I could open it through the base... They had to get it in somehow... But you're supposed to break it."

I handed it to him, "But I want to put it in the baby's room."

"Oh..." he said softly, attempting to find a way to open the bird, "what for?"

"Decoration. I'll set it on the dresser... But if you can't-"

"Why don't you open the other two while I do this?"

"Okay."

I picked the silver one up and began to tear the paper, and, of course, found a lovely dress in Erik's favorite shade. It was designed in my preferred style, with a small bust and simple embroidery just around the front buttons.

"Erik," I asked gently, "you've never told me why you're so fascinated with lilacs."

"It's nearly open," he told me hastily, fidgeting with the bird, "I need something to pry it open with, let me-"

"Erik dear, why won't you tell me?"

"I have to do this first!" He exclaimed, rushing off to the kitchen, perhaps to try a knife.

I pursued him, sighing, "Can't you tell me while you do that? I'm not trying to annoy you; I'm only curious."

He ignored me, engrossing himself in his task while I watched, arms crossed. The sealed part of the bird, a little circle of porcelain, popped off, and Erik handed me it so I could see what was inside.

"I want to know about the lilacs," I prodded further, clasping the bird in my hands.

"Why?" He whimpered. "You always want to know everything! How curious you women are! Why must you be so curious?!"

"I thought you liked my curiosity."

"Not when you pry into Erik's secrets!"

"It's a secret?"

"Just open your bird."

"No."

"My dear, why must you be so obstinate?"

"I want you to tell me as..." I searched for something to say, "as a Christmas present."

"No. You asked for three gifts, you receive three..." Then he thought for a moment. "If you have something to offer, you could try that."

"What do you want me to offer?"

He laughed, as if at a joke he had made in his head, and he started going back into the drawing room. I pursued him in confusion, still clasping the bird.

"What's so funny?" I asked, now rather irritated.

"I want... I-I want to- Christine!"

He caught me as I tripped over the carpet, my foot having slipped underneath it from my lack of attention. He was trembling all over as he set me onto the sofa, kneeling down before me and sobbing.

"I'm fine, Erik, I'm fine," I told him.

He continued to sob, as if he hadn't heard me. So I sighed and looked inside the bird as he buried himself in my skirts.

"This is so pretty, Erik," I said, examining the silver necklace with a jade pendant. "I'm perfectly fine, and I love this so much. I'll even put it on, if you want."

He started to twist his hands into the fabric, still crying, and I realized I wouldn't be able to get him out of this fit with soft words.

"You could've..." his voice was faltering from tears, and it seemed like he was struggling to breathe. "You could've... The baby... lost it, you could've... Oh, my Christine, my love, Erik is so... careless... with you! He wasn't... answering you, and that's... why you tripped, because you're... curious and he forgot... he forgot! He should have... told you... b-but you're safe... now, s-stay sitting for a while... please, you're... s-safe now-"

"Can you breathe? You're gasping between words-"

"Let me... remove my... mask, but I won't... look up... I-"

"Do, Erik, I'm worried about you."

He shattered further, slipping off his mask and using my skirts as a replacement. The cherry red hue was turning crimson from his tears.

Of course we couldn't have a normal Christmas... never anything perfect, never...

And I started to cry. It was bad enough with one of us weeping in near-hysteria, so I tried to contain myself until my eyes stung too much, but my face was soon coated in pent-up tears. I remained silent, though, and he wouldn't look up, so he was oblivious.

He slowly calmed, his breathing relaxing. For a while, though, he continued being embraced by my skirts, perfectly content there.

"I love you..." he told me softly, his voice still a little raspy. "I love you..."

He kissed the hem repeatedly, almost reverently, and I was so disgusted at this, at the pitifulness of it, that I shrunk away from him.

At this, he slipped on his mask, trying to hide how upset he was, how ashamed, and I hastily asked if I could open my last gift, to make him forget this occurrence.

"Of course..." he said softly, fingering the red bow before he handed it to me.

"Won't you come sit up by me?"

"It's more comfortable here."

"If you say it is..."

I unwrapped the gift, and found inside a little dress and hat in white lace, like for... for...

"For a christening," I whispered.

"Is that not appropriate now?" He asked anxiously, looking up at me. "Christmas is a Christian holiday, so it made sense, but we can put it away if it's not-"

"It's beautiful."

The embroidery was rich, textured underneath my hand, and I felt suddenly very wrong for holding it. I was a poor excuse for a Christian, what with my dreams and selfish wants... And I was too ashamed to ask forgiveness, in fact I had... I had quite run away from my religion. After my angel had become a man, it had all fallen apart, and though I still believed in a God, I doubted the stories I had grown up with, and... Now I wished to be forgiven, but I still pined for the dreams, and to be free of here, to go about as I pleased, so I didn't think I could ask forgiveness if I still yearned for them.

"Christine, my love?" Erik asked softly as I stared down at the gift. "Why are you so quiet? Do you not like it? I can buy another, whatever you want, to make you happy-"

"No, it's lovely, I just..." I smiled falsely, "I'm fine. I'm actually quite hungry now, what are we having for breakfast?"

"Oh... did you want something special?"

"Oh, no, just like normal is fine."

"No, wait, I did buy you something special! A surprise! It was so difficult to find, how strange that is, but I found it, and- wait here, wait here, I'll bring it in a moment! I have to make your breakfast."

He hurried off into the kitchen, and I was left alone to put my head in my hands and wrestle with my mind.

The "something special," I learned once breakfast was ready, was lingonberries, specifically, lingonberry jam for my porridge. He always made me porridge... It had become a routine, and perhaps he even looked forward to making me it each morning.

Over breakfast, I decided against pressing further about the lilacs for the time. I put on the jade necklace, which he told me was supposed to bring good luck, though I knew he didn't believe that, only wanted me to. And after we had eaten (he had not had anything, though, he never did during breakfast), I placed the christening gown into the baby's room with great care, concealing it inside a drawer of the dresser.

Then I went back downstairs on Erik's arm, and he drowned me in music for the rest of the morning, which I was grateful for, because I knew if I was alone with my thoughts for much longer I would shatter.


	55. Chapter 55: Midnight

The mistletoe had two berries remaining by that evening, as I had somehow managed to keep myself together enough to let him kiss me once. But I had two more to go, and I feared that another touch from him would snap whatever thread my emotions balanced upon.

Maman... I missed Maman... It had come to me that afternoon, that feeling of emptiness that I feared might never leave. And I had forced a smile onto my face and a few chocolates into my mouth, but the happiness from earlier had been fleeting; now it was replaced by sorrow.

"You don't seem right," Erik remarked sadly, stopping in the middle of his piece. "Ever since after your nap, and after dinner, you haven't seemed right."

I promptly burst into tears, biting down hard on my lip to keep from wailing for maman, and perhaps Raoul, and oh, my father! I had no one, no one but Erik, how terrible that was to know that I had only poor Erik to love me!

"Christine!" He exclaimed, horrified as he rushed over to me, going to my feet. "My little Christine, why do you cry? Has Erik forgotten something? Let him remedy it! What do you need? Oh, please, my love, you know I can't bear it when you cry!... W-why do you cry? Why, my dear, when you were so happy before?"

I took a shuddering breath, "I feel so... so lonely... I'm sorry, Erik, but it's so l-lonely with only one person on Christmas, no m-matter if I love you, it's s-so lonely..."

"You miss your mother." He said softly. "The one that wasn't really your mother."

"Yes... v-very much."

"I can't help that."

"I know... I just n-need to cry, is all... M-maybe I'll feel better after a good c-cry..."

He left the room in sudden search of something, but I didn't care. I was caught up in my loneliness, my melancholy, my _confusion._

Then he returned with a handful of handkerchiefs, and he started to wipe away my tears himself, but his work was in vain, for there were always more, more... I couldn't stop!

"I want my family," I sobbed uselessly.

He was silent, then he left me again, and as before, returned moments later. This time he started to throw his voice around, to make me laugh, but it drove me insane, and I tried to just let him, but I couldn't bear it! So I yelled at him to be quiet, and he went over to the piano and sat down, staring at the white and black keys.

Then he murmured something.

"What?" I asked as I dabbed at my eyes.

"We'll be a family in March..." he whispered. "Then will you still be sad?"

"I think I'll be quite h-happy then... I didn't mean to yell at you, I'm sorry."

"My sweet little Christine, you don't-"

Of course, that was when there came a knock at the door. Erik had been right earlier, but what on earth was the Persian doing here? Had the whole neighborhood heard us sobbing and sent someone to investigate?

Erik threw open the front door while I continued crying on the sofa, and then he said calmly, "My wife is not well, daroga. Go away."

"Not well?" The Persian inquired, concerned.

"Go away."

I shuffled out the doorway to them, knowing I looked an absolute mess. My face was still sticky from tears.

"Please let him stay for a while," I asked Erik weakly, sniffling. "I'm lonely."

I could see his lips forming the word "no," but my blue eyes, opened wide, made him mumble out something similar to a "yes," though not quite.

I showed the Persian into the drawing room, trying to clean myself up with the handkerchiefs. He sat down in one of the armchairs, Erik in the other, and I was on the sofa.

How I despised awkward silence! My sniffles subsided at last, and I looked desperately between them to start a conversation.

"Are you coming to the opera house anymore, Erik?" The Persian asked politely.

"I have to care for my wife." Erik replied.

"Of course... Will you return after?"

"No. Not with _her_ as the new soprano."

"Ah... And how are you?"

Erik glanced over at me, "Very well, I suppose..." He came over to me. "Are you better, my love?"

"Much better," I replied.

He nodded, returning to his chair.

Silence.

"How are you, monsieur?" I asked the Persian.

"Fine, thank you... Well, if you care to know, I had pneumonia for a while, that's why I was unable to come visit you both sooner, see how you are-"

"We're fine," Erik told him. "You shouldn't go prying into our private lives like-"

"Erik, dear?" I said sweetly. "It's normal for friends to see how people are when they call."

"But he watches Erik all the time!"

I sighed, "Because he cares about you."

"Only you care about Erik, my love."

"Then why else would he watch you?"

"Because he's annoying and insufferable!"

It almost seemed like Erik didn't truly mean a word he said. He had an amiable air, save what he said, and it confused me.

"Erik," the Persian said, "I'm not trying to watch you anymore. I used to be your friend-"

Erik laughed, "Friend, yes, a friend who couldn't bear to look at Erik's face! My Christine can, because she loves me, and even when she was only my friend, she looked upon me without fear! So your definition of friend is incorrect."

I sighed irritably, "Could you please stop arguing, Erik? He's just calling like a normal person."

"Maybe you should leave," Erik told the Persian. "You're upsetting my wife."

"No, don't make him leave," I pleaded.

"You're distressed from him, my dear-"

"You're distressing me. Going on and on about things that matter when I just want to talk about things that don't. I never get to talk to anyone else! Not that I don't love talking to you, but I love to talk with lots of people, you know that."

"Yes," he sighed. "Fine. But if he's rude he must leave!"

I smiled quietly, "Thank you."

It was a conversation about nothing at all, really, laced with awkward silences and pauses. But I didn't care. I was soon bursting again with happiness at speaking with a normal person, who wouldn't snap at a random word.

But I yawned later on, and Erik decided to push the Persian out the door (almost literally) so that I could sleep. And he tucked me in like a child, layering my blankets against the cold.

"You owe me two kisses still," I told him softly as he turned to leave me.

"Two kisses..." He replied, coming timidly to my side and pressing his lips onto my forehead twice. "Are you content?"

"Yes... Goodnight, dear."

I couldn't read his expression, but his voice seemed full of tears and quiet joy as he repeated the phrase back to me.

And then, as usual, my dreams came. It was odd that I was having them so often now, more than one per week, when I had barely remembered any before.

I was out in a green field, like in Sweden, and underneath a single tree. Beside me was my father, and we were having a decadent chocolate cake on a glass stand, with strawberries on top, that he was cutting into three pieces.

"Where'd your husband run off to?" He asked, in blessed Swedish.

"Oh, he'll be back for cake."

The baby kicked inside me, but all around, hundreds of kicks all around-

"Have you seen what your husband did to the trees?" Papa said.

"No, what-? Oh!"

Taxidermy squirrels littered the branches, and I beamed, "How sweet of him."

"Yes... ah, there he is! You'll have to translate for me."

"Of course, papa."

Erik popped out from behind the tree, but... _not_ Erik. He was unmasked, but he had a nose, a perfect one, though he still resembled a skeleton in all other aspects.

"Good evening, my dear," he said, kissing my lips as I pulled away in sudden disgust.

"Evening, it's-?"

The sky was suddenly blue and covered in stars. And there were the auroras! Oh, how I had prayed to see them as a child, every year, how magnificent they were!

"Where did papa go?" I asked Erik, turning around to look for him.

He pulled me tight against him, "He left us to be alone... Why did you not let me kiss you?"

"I don't know, I... I'm sorry. I don't think I really want to tonight. Yes, I'd like to sleep, if that's alright?"

"Of course..."

We went into a pastel-blue colored house, which was small, with a gabled roof. Inside was simply a bed in white, and I lied back on this, sighing.

"I'm going out," Erik informed me. "I'll be back soon."

"Okay. I'll be asleep."

He kissed my forehead and left.

Barely a moment after this, Raoul came in, and I told him to go away lest Erik should catch him, but he wouldn't budge. He told me he loved me and couldn't bear to be parted between his kisses. And I wanted his kisses, and to be with him, to embrace him and be loved by him... But I remembered Erik, so I shoved him off of me and out the door, which I locked.

"You wicked girl!" Erik cried immediately, his furious voice enveloping the room. "You won't be forgiven for this! You cruel creature! Vile! Despicable! How dare you betray your husband?!"

"I pushed him away," I pleaded. "I pushed him away!"

"But you haven't done so before! Christine, cruel Christine, You deceitful girl! You've betrayed me!"

He cackled madly as the floor broke beneath my feet, and I saw flames, the flames of-

"Christine?" Erik pleaded. "You must wake up, my love, you must wake up!"

My eyelids fluttered open, and I stared about the room, breathing a little heavily. He was still wearing his new mask.

"You had a nightmare..." he told me sadly.

"I know I did..." I said, avoiding his gaze for a moment.

"What about?"

"The baby."

"Oh, I have dreams about that, too. But not so much now, they've gone away."

"Good..."

"Would you tell me your dream?" He asked. "I heard that sometimes telling dreams helps you calm yourself after them, and you must be calm, always."

I sighed, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt... I was... in Sweden with my father."

"Oh."

"And I was pregnant still, and you were my husband-"

"You said that strangely," he remarked.

"What?"

"You said 'you were my husband' as if someone else sometimes is."

"I didn't mean it like that." I said hastily, hoping I was convincing. "I simply meant that... you were my husband and not simply my friend, which I sometimes dream about."

"Oh... Continue."

"We were eating chocolate cake, and watching the aurora borealis... But it was summer, so that didn't quite make sense... And then I was tired, so you took me to a little house we had, and set me down on the bed, which was the only furniture in the entire house, I think. You kissed me and went out to do something... And though it had been morning before, it was suddenly night, and I was frightened at being alone in the dark, and I... couldn't get out of the house. The door was locked. That's why I was afraid."

"My little Christine, Erik would never let you be alone in the dark."

"Of course not," I smiled.

Of course not... Though he had before, what seemed so long ago...

"Has that helped?" He asked hopefully.

"Yes. Thank you," I lied.

His eyes brightened, "Good... Do you want breakfast in bed?"

"That would be lovely, thank you."

He left to make my porridge, as usual.

After Christmas came New Years, which the Persian did not join us for. I wore the lilac dress Erik had bought me for Christmas, but wore my hair down, as I knew that he must prefer it that way. My uneasy stomach had begun to return, however, of course on that day, so I didn't have any champagne. Erik mostly made me tea now anyway, as he said it would calm me and was far healthier than anything else. But he made sure it was cool before it ever touched my lips.

So I had lukewarm tea at twelve o'clock, January first.

"We're supposed to kiss, I think," I told Erik. "If you want to."

He kissed my forehead, and I laughed, "No, a real kiss."

"That was a real kiss, too." He said softly.

But then he looked at me, in the uncomfortable way men can do, and I knew he was admiring my dress, my hair, how soft and round I now was...

"You're so beautiful," he told me in awe, tentatively lifting up my face, with his bony hands on either side. "So beautiful..."

Then he suddenly broke away from me and went into his room for the rest of the night. I didn't see him again until ten o'clock the next morning, when he finally came out, stammering apologies for neglecting me, and went to make my breakfast.

It was my seventh month, and I knew soon my nausea and headaches would return. But I didn't know that they would come flooding over me in full force within the next couple of weeks...


	56. Chapter 56: Two Cradles

My nausea was only bad in the mornings, thankfully, and we got into a routine of him bringing me ginger tea with my porridge around nine every morning, when I woke. Frequently I slept in later, though, since I would wake up uncomfortable in the middle of the night and be unable to fall back asleep until early the next morning.

But the worst thing was that I was _exhausted_ all the time. I had been tired before, but it was nothing compared to this. I rarely got up from the sofa most days, and once I actually fell asleep on it right after dinner, and remained there since Erik didn't trust himself to carry me up to bed.

He was absolutely horrified at first for me, but I slowly became accustomed to my aches and pains as January wore on. Then Erik insisted that a doctor should come to see me and make sure I was alright.

"But why?" I asked. "What could he do to help if something _was_ wrong?"

And after a little more convincing, he had decided against that, and entirely against a doctor at all. He told me he had found two experienced midwives to tend to me when March came around, which seemed to be approaching faster and faster with each passing day.

I rubbed my head, and my womb, and my chest where it burned, as I stared up at the ceiling in the dark. It was January 27th now.

Erik was playing his violin in his room, but I could hear it seeping in underneath my door. Unable to stand the fact that he would be exhausted tomorrow without sleep, and also wanting very much to be closer to the music, I crept out into the hall and knocked quietly on his door.

He continued, so I knocked a little louder. Then the music ceased, and I heard the colorful sound that a violin makes when set down without caution. He shuffled over to the door and unlocked it.

"Are you alright?" He asked in concern.

"Why aren't you asleep?" I replied.

He averted his eyes and shifted his feet, "I couldn't."

"Me neither... Would you play for me, please?"

"Of course, my love, the violin or-?"

"The violin, please."

He went to retrieve it, and I shuffled back into my room, moaning as I lied down on the bed. I felt like every time I sat or lied down I would never be able to get up again.

Erik came in with his red violin under his arm, and I smiled at him as I tried to get comfortable. Somehow my womb was still expanding, though it was already knocking me off balance and made me almost shatter the little porcelain bird on the baby's dresser one day. It was rather silly to think of, sometimes, but other times I wanted to exhale in irritation.

"Do you have a request?" He asked.

I turned onto my other side, "Whatever you want to play for me."

As I rested one of my hands on my abdomen, shutting my eyes, I winced, and Erik swiftly removed the violin from his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He asked anxiously, coming to my side. "Are you hurt?"

"There's just, um... I-it feels like when you're a child, and you get little pains in your legs, you know? But it's here... I've gotten little ones before, but not... not like this..."

"Is he moving?"

"No, maybe I'm just expanding, I suppose... Yes, it feels like that... but Erik, about that, I..." I winced again, this time more subtly. "I'm a little concerned."

"About this?"

"No, I just don't know..." I sighed. "I don't know if it's a 'he.'"

"My dear, we won't know the gender until-"

"No, Erik, I... I'm worried... I-I'm worried it's a 'they...' I feel kicks on either side sometimes, rarely, but almost like... like there are two."

He stood still as marble for a moment, and I almost thought he had died.

"Erik?" I whispered.

"But... but you can't." His voice came out barely audible. "You're wrong."

"That's not unlikely. He could just be kicking in different places, with different limbs, and I don't know how it should feel-"

"But you can't!" He cried.

"Don't shout, Erik, why can't I-?"

He started to cry, collapsing beside my bed, "Twins are harder, you can't do twins, you can't, no... no, not twins... You must be wrong, you m-must be..."

"I'll be fine, women have twins all the time, don't they?"

"But how? How can you have two?!"

"I don't know how it works any more than you do... Couldn't you just pretend to be happy-?"

"You'll need a nursemaid, then," he said decidedly, "if there are two-"

"A nursemaid?"

"To help you with the children."

"You can help, can't you?"

"What? Erik?"

"Yes, _you."_ I huffed. "You said you wouldn't work anymore-"

"That was just to stop the Persian man from following me. Of course I'll work once you're better, if- but, oh, we can't have a nursemaid, because she'll be afraid of Erik! And what if she's mean to the babies?"

"I don't need a nursemaid, I need you to-"

"Maybe a young girl," he said, pacing. "And you can watch her to make sure she's good to them, and the salary would have to be high, but where would she live? The attic would do, I suppose, and-"

"I don't want a nursemaid!" I cried. "Why won't you listen to me?! Why won't you help me when he, or they, are born?"

"Because they'll be afraid..."

"Afraid? They'll grow up seeing you-"

"My mother spent nine years with me and she couldn't bear to see me!" He shouted, causing me to shrink back and shudder. "The daroga spent a year with me and he still would scream if he saw Erik's face without a mask! You don't understand that you are the only person in the entire world who can look upon his face and not be afraid! That's why I love you, oh, I love you more than anything, because you can look upon me without fear, and you say you love me... You say you love me," he crumpled down beside my bed again. "I can't lose you. I can't lose you... Oh why did Erik give you the baby? Why?"

"Because I asked for it, and you love me and want to make me happy."

He sobbed, "But I can't l-lose you..."

"I can't help that. I wish I could-"

"You can pray," he said suddenly. "Maybe that would help."

"Erik, I... Okay. I'll pray."

My child (or children) hadn't sinned, so God would have mercy on them at least, no matter what their mother did. And I prayed silently, right in front of Erik as he watched.

"Why are you quiet?" He asked.

"I'm saying it in my head."

"Oh... that works?"

"He knows everything." I replied softly.

Erik was so strange about religion. It seemed that he believed in a God, and yet mocked the idea.

The room was still for a moment as I thought over what Erik had said, having unclasped my hands. A nursemaid would be nice, but I couldn't imagine how Erik would treat a random person who feared him in our house. And what if he... what if he killed her? If she couldn't stop a baby from crying, what would he do? If she almost dropped one, what then?

No. No nursemaid.

"Did Erik frighten you?" He asked softly.

I had almost forgotten he was there.

"No," I lied. "I'm sorry that I forget how much I mean to you."

He averted his eyes, "Too much, perhaps... I'll play for you so you can fall asleep."

I fell back asleep from his music, and strange dreams filled my head about two babies. In it, I kept searching for them, and searching, but I couldn't find them. And Erik kept berating me while I ran around all over Paris to find my children, but they were nowhere! Eventually, when I found one, I would misplace him as I searched for the other.

I woke up absolutely miserable, because there wasn't someone I could cling to and confess all my worries to. If I did that to Erik, he would fall into a state of panic, worse than mine. So I had to bottle up my fears.

When he came in with my porridge and tea that morning, he told me I should stay in my room today.

"Why?" I asked, though I had no real intent to go downstairs.

"If it is twins, we have to be very careful." He replied calmly, not meeting my gaze.

"But Erik, I have over a month left-"

"Twins come earlier... Please, my love, just stay upstairs from now on."

"But when Monsieur Nadir comes, can you help me downstairs then?"

"Maybe it's best if he doesn't come anymore-"

"Erik, I'll be miserable if I'm kept up here-"

"And what if you lose the baby?! Or babies, how miserable you would be then! My little Christine, you have to be safe, please, you can go outside your room, unlike before, but not downstairs... not downstairs."

"Okay... Okay, but I want to be able to go down when Monsieur Nadir comes calling-"

"Don't call him that. Just call him Nadir."

"Why don't you call him that?"

"It's difficult to explain... He can come after the babies are born."

"We don't know for sure that there are two; it's only a guess from a woman who's never had a baby before... But alright, if it will content you, he can come after the baby is born."

"Thank you, my Christine. We have to keep you very safe now... And you won't be miserable! I'll bring up your knitting, and the harp, and whatever else you want. Let me do that now, eat your breakfast."

I sighed as he rushed downstairs, and I experienced a strange combination of being ravenous and yet disgusted from my nausea. Somehow, I managed to take a few cautious bites after I had finished the tea.

Erik tidied up my room with everything I might need, then he went over to the cradle, silent, and he stood there. He simply remained there, looking down at it, his white mask reflecting the light from the window.

"We'll need two now, just in case," he said softly. "Just in case..."

Then he left without another word, and I heard the front door shut behind him as he, presumably, went to procure another cradle.

I remained in my nightgown, as it was far more comfortable than a dress, and knit until he returned. I had a whole army of little socks and sweaters, but no hats, since one of my books said not to cover a baby's head. All the clothes were in pastel colors, as was popular for children.

As I finished a little lavender sock, I heard the front door open downstairs. After a moment, it shut, and I heard Erik dragging something upstairs, something I knew was another cradle.

It was overwhelming, terrifying to think that there might be two. I had been afraid of being a good mother to one, but _two_? How on earth would I be able to cope on my own with two infants, and still find time to give Erik attention as well? And what if they were both deformed?

When Erik entered my room, pulling the second cradle in beside the other, I was sobbing, but I refused to tell him why, shaking my head like a child. He asked over and over about what could be bothering me, starting with pain, then the cradle, and finally he asked:

"Are you afraid?"

I shook my head.

"You're lying... you must be... Or are you that brave? Yes, you can look upon Erik without fear, but-"

"I need you to promise me something," I asked suddenly, not entirely confident in the idea that I had been turning over in my head the past few days.

"Anything... within reason. Erik is so good with promises now."

"When the baby comes, after the midwives arrive, I want you to... I want you to stay with Nadir."

"You don't want the babies to see Erik-"

"No, no, of course not, I... I don't want something to go wrong, and have you be there for it. And if it hurts me, like you said before, I don't want you to... hear anything."

"And what if..." his voice was raspy. "What if something goes wrong, and... a-and I don't... s-see you again?"

"You'll see me again. Have you looked at me recently? I'm young, I've widened and rounded up... I'm perfectly ready to have a baby. The midwives won't worry about a thing when they see me, and you shouldn't worry either."

"Will you you be upset if I stay?"

"I want you to come back when the baby's born. And besides, it's good for a mother to be alone with her baby for a long time right afterward, with no interruptions. That's what the books say."

That appeased him instantly, "Then I promise... I promise to leave once the midwives are taking care of you."

He could still be lying. I knew that very well, it was likely, but... Maybe not...

"Thank you, Erik dear," I told him, pulling him down so I could kiss his forehead.

Could he tell how much I was trembling?


	57. Chapter 57: False

The days either flew by too fast for me to catch my breath, or wouldn't end. I couldn't tell which I preferred. I wanted to give birth soon, get it over with to end these miserable mornings, but I was also terrified of it. Erik obviously thought it would hurt horribly, and there was the fear that they would be deformed or... Oh, what if they were conjoined twins?! I couldn't imagine, I didn't want to imagine, I knew I would love whatever was growing inside me, but... I didn't know if I would have the strength.

Soon it was February, and I spent most my days in the nursery- even though they wouldn't sleep in there- knitting. Erik sometimes came in to watch me, and he had become rather quiet and curt. He hadn't cried in a week or so, which was strange, but neither had he smiled. At night, he sang me to sleep, accompanied by the harp.

I started to have strange, but infrequent and short sensations in my abdomen. They occurred almost exclusively when I got up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. It was painless, just a tightening and loosening, but curious, and I assumed they must be in preparation for giving birth. But they seemed painless enough...

Then Erik and I, simultaneously, in the middle of February, fell into a state of increasing panic. He never left my side, not even at night now. He feared I was off on my date of conception, or that the baby could be early, so he slept at the end of my bed, though I knew it must be uncomfortable for him. But he refused to be beside me, so I simply let him.

At night, I would sometimes pace the hallway, adjust the toys and decorations in the nursery, reorganize little articles of clothing, and one night at the end of February, as I was busy with this, I felt one of the tightening sensations like before. But this one hurt, not very much, but it scared me half to death and I ran to Erik, sobbing. He sat up, bewildered at how I had been able to get up without him noticing.

"Christine?" He asked groggily as I clung to him, sobbing. "My dear, what's wrong? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"Then why do you cry? Why did you get up?"

I sobbed harder, and he wrapped his arms about me to console me, letting my tears stain his shirt.

"You're frightened..." he said softly. "Aren't you?"

I nodded weakly.

And he started to cry as well, "Every day now, Erik thinks... he thinks it might be the last one, the l-last one, and he... he can't... bear the thought, my dear little Christine."

I gave no reply, and he let me fall back asleep in his arms. When I woke, he was gone, and I found a note accompanying my breakfast, which was on a silver tray on the desk.

"My dear wife,

I've gone out to make arrangements for the birth. I've also made inquiries for a nursemaid. I'll be back before noon, if not sooner, since you shouldn't be alone.

/ Your husband,

Erik"

"Why did he scratch out 'love?'" I sighed, sipping my cold tea.

I shuffled over to the nursery, a bit unsteady and woozy, so that I had to lean against a wall and rub my forehead until it passed.

How beautiful the baby room was... The walls were a pale blue, and there was a single window with white curtains. I went over to this to look out at the garden, which was yellow and brown, and covered in frost. It had snowed a few days ago, but all that remained of this were small clumps of powder.

"Je t'aimerai, je t'aimerai," I sung softly, beginning to hum the melody.

I received a strong kick to my side, and felt the spot with my hands.

"That's your song," I told him. "Do you not like it? Or are you dancing in there, perhaps?"

I giggled weakly as he kicked again.

"I would dance with you, but I fear I would break something in the process."

The kicks subsided, and I stroked the spot. Would the other start dancing, too? Why was he quiet?

"Come on, dearie, surely you want to dance with your sibling?" I coaxed, taking another sip of tea.

There they were. A nudge on one side, and a kick on the other... It could just be his hand, of course, or my poor sense of feeling, but... I hoped there was only one, and that I was mistaken.

Erik returned exactly at noon, and I heard him rush upstairs to me. He collapsed at my feet, begging forgiveness for being gone so long, and I kissed his forehead to make him cease.

"It's fine, dear," I said, "you were preparing for the baby-"

"You shouldn't kiss me..." he said quietly. "Erik loves your kisses so much that he... he didn't say earlier... but no more."

"Why-?"

"Because they might hurt the baby!"

"That's ridiculous-"

"Please, my love, no more kisses from you." He begged. "No more, no more... Your lips shouldn't be touched by me."

"I- fine. We have a few weeks left now, and after the baby is born-"

"Or babies."

I sighed, "Yes, Erik, after they're born you can have as many kisses as you want."

He was unable to fake a smile, because I knew he still firmly believed that I would die. I couldn't kiss him when dead.

And the days started flying again, with more hysteria from Erik and more silence from me. He stayed at my feet like a dog, weeping simply because he thought that, any day now, I would be gone.

I hid any pain I was feeling from him. I concealed my swollen feet, my headaches, all of it, because I thought it would be best if he didn't know. Then he might not worry so much.

"Erik," I sighed, looking down at him from my knitting. "Dear, I'm going to be fine-"

I clutched my abdomen, feeling myself cramping up. Erik stared up at me in horror, his dark-seated eyes wide.

"Is t-that it?" He asked tremulously.

"I don't know, I don't-" I winced. "I'm fine, I think, I... I don't know! Oh, Erik, I'm frightened! I don't know!"

He clung to my skirts, sobbing, and then, quite suddenly, the contractions went away. I glanced down at him in confusion.

"Have they gone?" He asked desperately.

"Yes... all gone." I blinked back tears. "All gone."

"Oh, my Christine! Let me kiss you, forgive me, I need to kiss you as much as I can, I wished I had kissed you more, because..." He thought for a moment, then said reassuringly, "You'll be fine. You don't need to fear anything."

I nodded, and he took my head in his hands and covered it with his lips. I knew he could taste tears, but he didn't react to this, only kept kissing like he would die if he stopped.

Then I held myself again as my abdomen tightened and released once more.

"They haven't... g-gone," I said shakily, taking in a gulp of air.

"Are you certain?" His voice came out a wisp as he parted from me.

"H-how long does labor last?"

"It depends, I think..." How frail his voice was! "But more than a couple hours, if not... longer, but you'll be fine! Yes, perfectly fine! But it could be fake, sometimes they're fake... the first time... It must be fake! It's not real!"

"Go get Nadir, please."

"What? Why?"

"Because if it's not fake, someone needs to stay with me w-while the other gets a midwife."

"But I can't leave you alone," he moaned. "How could I leave you alone-?"

"Wait, I think... I think they're gone."

We both waited with bated breath. One minute. Two minutes. Three. Four. Five.

"Yes, I think... they're gone," I told him, exhaling in relief and beginning to cry again.

"No, no, my love, shh, it'll be alright, you'll be fine! With midwives to tend to you, just fine, and I'll go away to the Persian man's apartment when you do, so you can be alone with the babies! And I'll find you a nice young nursemaid to help you, I promise... I promise..."

He kissed my forehead again, then suddenly he backed away.

"Someone does need to stay..." he said softly. "Someone needs to stay... If only I could leave to get a nursemaid!"

"Erik, Nadir can stay with me while you do that. Go get him. I'll be fine."

"It's necessary..." he told himself, then turned back to me. "I'll bring him here."

Before I could respond, he had rushed downstairs and slammed the front door in his wake. I stared at the wall for quite some time, petrified and unable to think of anything but my fears.

He would bring the Persian... and then a poor nursemaid...

I knew Erik would have to wear his mask all the time with a nursemaid, and perhaps that was why I mostly opposed it. Yes, having help would be wonderful with two, but... I didn't know how Erik would react to her. I had only ever seen him with the Persian, who was supposedly his old friend and whom he always yelled at and berated.

The front door opened, and I shuffled out into the hallway as Erik ran upstairs to me.

"There!" Erik said happily, gesturing to a bewildered looking Nadir. "He's had a pregnant wife before, too, I had forgotten... Come upstairs, daroga! She doesn't go downstairs now."

The came up into the nursery, and Erik went about the room in a frenzied fashion, going on and on about how normal it was and everything. Then, of course, he promptly broke down in the corner and we stared at him in pity.

"Has he been like this all day?" The Persian asked, his voice quiet so that Erik wouldn't hear.

"Not this bad yet..." I replied sadly. "I fear he'll go insane soon. I made him promise to stay with you while I give birth, but... I don't know."

"He told me he's going to get a nursemaid, and I tried to convince him otherwise, but he was fretting over you too much to hear a word... Was that your idea-?"

"Of course not, but he won't listen to me since we think I might be having twins."

"Oh... I tried to talk with him about it, the day he kicked me out, of you remember, but I know precious little. I was not there when my wife had our son."

"You're married?"

"I was... Perhaps that's why he's so concerned for you, because he saw me go through losing her. She died in childbirth with our second."

"I'm sorry."

He nodded pensively, glancing over at Erik, who still sobbed. Then he sighed, "You'll have to convince him against a nursemaid once they're born. It's not safe for someone to live in this house besides you and your children. And even then..."

"I know... I wish I could have help, though."

"I am sorry about that; and I understand why you chose this... I'll try to reason with him after they're born. He acts like he hates me and won't listen, but you've seen by now that he means very little of what he says to me."

I nodded, biting my lip as Erik rose and came over to us.

"This is where the midwives are," he told the Persian, sounding as if he hadn't been crying at all. He handed him a slip of paper. "Though let's hope they aren't required... not today, no more, no more..."

Then he came over to me and kissed the top of my head, "You'll be alright, you'll be alright... My little Christine..."

He had to pull himself away from me, and I could see in his eyes that he wanted desperately to stay.

He loved me so much...


	58. Chapter 58: Anne-Marie

The Persian pursued Erik as he went downstairs, even though we both knew it was useless trying to convince him of anything in this state.

"Erik, wait," he said, "listen-"

"Why are you following me?" Erik retorted angrily. "You're supposed to be looking after my wife!"

"Why are you getting a nursemaid?"

"Why do you think? So that my wife won't be exhausted all the time, what with two children, two chi-"

"Erik, listen, do you want another person in this house besides Christine?"

Silence.

"I have to," he said wearily. "Now look after her, or you would do well to keep your hand up when I return!"

The front door slammed, and the Persian came back upstairs to me.

"He doesn't mean that," he told me. "He's tried to kill me multiple times before but never followed through."

"If he feels like you've neglected me when he returns," I replied, "I doubt it."

"I suppose so..." He gave a small smile, then realized it hadn't been intended as a joke and cleared his throat. "Madame, would you tell me all that occurred in my absence?"

"Oh, far too much to say... but I would quite like to say it all, if you want to listen."

After a nod from him, I took a deep breath and began, as I had before with him when I was still somewhat free. His jade eyes were attentive like last time, and he didn't interrupt me, nor ask me to repeat a word. My emotions flooded out of me until I had lost all restraint of them, and his pitying expression grew longer and longer, making me realize, for the first time in a year, how miserable my life truly was. I seemed to have forgotten...

"Do you think Erik will do well with children?" I asked him after I had finished.

"I doubt he'll have anything to do with them." He replied simply. "But that's best... I assume he'll want to spoil them, if anything, and refuse to have you discipline them, but then again, he could also be very harsh and expect too much, or treat them like dolls... We'll just have to see, but I doubt after being treated as he was that he'll be cruel to them. Don't concern yourself with that, don't worry right now. I know that sounds impossible, but worrying will make everything worse."

I put my head in my hands, "I was so stupid to do this-"

"No, madame, don't call yourself that-"

"But I was! I've doomed this child- children- to the same fate I'm trapped in, I... I'm so selfish, aren't I?" I pleaded. "I am, I know I am, Erik won't say it, won't you?"

"You've been shut away with him for far too long," he said gently. "But you're the least selfish person I've ever met... You do understand that he took your life away from you, and yet you still try to love him?"

"You don't think I'm selfish?"

"For wanting a child? Wanting to be with someone other than Erik? No, of course not, not after all you've given him. Ever since I met him he's only wanted this, a normal life, and you've sacrificed yourself for that. And it seems he almost understands that now... If I were you, I would be mad by now... But he didn't, forgive me, I forgot to ask, he didn't violate you, correct? I know you wouldn't tell me in front of him, but now... It was entirely of your own volition?"

"Yes, it was... You don't think any less of me for what I've done?" I inquired, confused at his calm and sympathetic demeanor.

"I think all the more of you... And I hope you can find some happiness, or at least peace soon, with the children."

"That's all I want, peace..."

We were silent for a while, having worn ourselves out with words. Then we both gave a small start at the sound of the front door opening, and two pairs of footsteps coming upstairs.

Erik came into the room, in his white mask, and behind him was a young woman who seemed no more than sixteen, with big brown eyes and frizzy hair kept up in a tight chignon. She was slightly smaller than me, and had a clay-like pallor.

"You can leave now," Erik told the Persian.

"Won't you thank him?" I offered.

"Thank you for taking care of my wife." He murmured, coming inside with the wide-eyed girl, who seemed to be admiring the room in awe.

"Hello," I said kindly.

She gave a hesitant smile, "Hello, madame."

"Well, introduce yourself." Erik told her stiffly, then softly to me, "I'm going to make dinner for you, my dear."

I nodded, and he left me alone with her.

"I'm Christine Daaé," I told her.

"Anne-Marie, madame." She replied in a quiet voice, clasping her hands in front of her gray skirts.

"It's nice to meet you, Anne-Marie... Might I ask why you decided to work here?"

"I was offered, and... I've always wanted to be a nursemaid, you see."

"How were you educated?"

"I grew up in a convent... But I learned how to take care of children from living there."

"So it was an orphanage?"

"Practically, madame."

"Have you ever delivered a baby?"

"I helped with a birth once."

"Then I can see why Erik hired you..." I sighed. "But you can't work here."

Her hands fell to her sides, "W-what? Why, madame, please, please, I know I'm brown, I know, but-"

"What? No, no, that doesn't matter. My only friend now is Persian, and I'm Swedish, so I've never seen a point in all that..." I sighed. "Could you go see if he's listening?"

She peeked outside the door, "No, madame."

When she turned back to me her brown eyes were glossy with tears.

"If you want to work here," I told her, "you must know that... Erik was burned badly in a fire a year ago, and he behaves erratically sometimes due to this. I married him to take care of him, since I didn't have the heart to cut off our engagement."

I didn't trust to tell her the truth, and this was good enough."

"Then he's...?" She asked nervously.

"Unstable... But only sometimes, and he had a harsh upbringing that doesn't help matters. But he loves me, and I'm sure he'll avoid you most of the time... How much is he paying you?"

"40 francs per week," she said, struggling to keep her eyes dry.

No wonder she wanted this job...

"And is that enough for you to work for an unstable man?" I asked.

"Oh, madame, I have never wanted anything more than to care for children all my life. I won't raise any questions or judge, I promise. I don't mind working for a man in a mask."

"Then... If you're so certain, you can stay."

"Oh, thank you, madame, thank you!" She exclaimed as she wiped away a few tears.

"Where will you sleep?"

"H-he didn't tell me, I didn't give much of a thought to it..."

"Well, I'd quite like it if you stayed in here. Erik wants the children to sleep in my bedroom until they're older, so this nursery is more like a playroom, I suppose, but it's far better than the attic."

"It's lovely, madame, such a lovely nursery."

"I'll talk to him about getting a bed for you. He's quite anxious about the birth, that's why we weren't exactly prepared for a nursemaid."

"I don't mind, thank you."

"Well... Would you tell me about yourself?"

"My education, madame, or...?"

"Your life, your age, your personality... Unless you don't want to say. But I'm not going to let you go unless you confess you've killed a man."

She smiled weakly at the joke, then fidgeted with the edge of her apron, "I'm eighteen in a few months. I don't know the names of my parents; I was practically raised by the church... A-and I was going to become a nun, but then I heard some girls talking about getting work as a governess. I knew I wasn't educated at a school, though I knew needlework and a bit of music, and of course, religion is- Forgive me, did you say you were Swedish?"

"Yes... I believe I'm Protestant."

Her face fell, "Oh."

"But that doesn't matter to me... Unless it does to you?"

"No, madame, not at all."

"Would you continue?"

"Yes, well, um, I heard about becoming an assistant nursemaid." She talked eagerly and quickly, as if she rarely got to. "And I searched for a position, and I found one, but... Well, they wouldn't let me hold the babies, only wash clothes and prepare food, not that I mind that, I just... I was just a servant, really, and I had wanted to at least provide some care for children. I learned how to cook, though, so some good came of it, and my needlework improved... But I left there because of how hard I thought it was, and how miserable, in a fit of stupidity, and tried to find another place, but there was nothing for me save factory work. And because I don't look French, people assume I'm an immigrant, and though I know France is far better than, say, England, I still wasn't treated the same, and I couldn't live like that, I felt I was too young to do that the rest of my life... Am I saying too much? I talk a lot."

"No, please continue."

"I never had anyone listen to me is all..." She told me shyly. "Well, I wandered for a little while until I wound up back at the convent, considering becoming a nun again. And I knew I would be perfectly content with that, but I still wanted to be a nursemaid, so I kept trying to find work, and I..." She hesitated. "I found here."

I could tell she had omitted something, but I didn't press her for it.

"Well, I'm glad that you seem to have found a profession you like. That's quite rare, you know."

"Yes..."

"I sang in operas before, so I understand somewhat."

"Oh."

I could feel her eyes latch onto my ring, to be entirely sure she wasn't working for a mistress.

I told her kindly. "But you will be doing mostly work, I think, not just caring for the children."

"Oh, yes, madame, I know, I'll do anything you need."

"I'm glad to have help now. Erik wears himself out with everything."

"You don't have another servant?" She asked, incredulous. "Oh, forgive me, I didn't-"

"He prefers to do everything himself, or at least, he won't let me lift a finger in this house."

"Oh..."

She fidgeted again, and I realized I ought to ask her to sit, but I was occupying the only chair in the room, and I couldn't offer that.

"Did you say you were present at a birth?" I asked.

"I fetched hot water and towels," she replied proudly.

"Well, I don't know anything about it. Would you tell me so I'm prepared?"

"Oh... in detail or...?"

"Detailed, please, as much as you're comfortable with."

"If... if you want, madame, but-"

Erik's footsteps interrupted her, and he came in with my dinner on a silver tray as usual. I smiled at him.

"We were talking." I told him. "She's going to be a wonderful help to me."

"Good." He said simply. "I need to prepare the attic for her-"

"Erik, what if she slept in the nursery? That's closer to me in case I need something, and she can hear the children from there."

"Oh... Yes, the nursery, that's best... Eat your dinner, my dear, do you need ginger tea?"

"That would be wonderful, Erik."

"Do you mind if the girl makes it?"

"I... I suppose that's fine."

"So that I can stay with you."

I turned to Anne-Marie, "Do you think you can find the kitchen and everything?"

"Yes, madame," she replied. "Ginger tea?"

"With a bit of green tea mixed in, thank you."

She left, and Erik came over to me tentatively.

"Are you sure she'll be kind with the children?" He asked anxiously. "That's why I didn't get an older nursemaid. And this one's helped with a birth before, so she'll know how to help you... When it's time..."

"Erik, I'll be fine, I'll be fine, don't-"

He curled up into my skirts, crying quietly, and I sighed. This misery had better end soon; I couldn't take another minute.

I had to eat with him like that, and Anne-Marie stared for only a moment before coming over with my tea.

"I have some needlework in the top drawer of my dresser in my room that I never use," I told her softly, "if you'd like to occupy yourself with that. Just sit in my room."

She nodded, pulling her eyes away from Erik, who was now simply clinging to me in silence.

"Shut the door, please," I added, and she did so.

Once I had finished my dinner, I had Erik play for me, to help him, but he had barely gotten through a piece before he started to go about the room, opening drawers and reorganizing everything as I had gotten into the habit of doing. But he did it frantically, repeatedly, and it drove me just as mad as him.

"Erik, stop!" I exclaimed.

He ceased immediately, turning to me with big, pitiful eyes evident through the two holes of his mask.

"You're making me anxious." I pleaded. "You have calm down, please, you frighten me when you do things like that."

"Forgive me."

"Of course I do, we just need to calm ourselves down somehow... Why don't I sing? Will that help?"

"Yes, try that," he agreed, already calmer.

"You know, they sometimes dance now when I sing."

"Good. That must mean they're healthy, and if they're healthy it'll go well, and you're healthy, you've been eating well, and you have a nursemaid now to tend to you."

"Thank you for getting her for me. I'll need help with the babies, and she seems very nice."

"The babies..." he said softly, admiring the porcelain bird atop a pastel yellow dresser. "To make Christine happy..."

I bit my lip hard to keep from crying at the wispy sound his voice was making.

"You've made such pretty clothes for the babies," he told me, looking down at where they nested in a drawer. "Even if they're not pretty, at least they'll dress pretty... And you'll love them, you promised, you promised..."

"I'll love them, Erik dear."

"Will you call them dear?"

"Yes, I already do."

He shut the drawer, "Do people buy gifts for babies when they're born?"

"We don't have anyone to buy gifts for them, but I think sometimes people do. We have enough already."

"Enough... Yes, all the drawers are full... Do you like the mobiles?"

"I've told you before; I love them."

"I chose stars because that seems natural. Don't you think they'll like looking up at pretty stars? I never looked up at pretty things as a baby, I think, or a child..."

"We'll give them lots of pretty things."

"And love."

"Yes, Erik dear. And love."

"I love you." He said quickly, then he repeated it over and over until I lost count of how many times over that he loved me.

And he kissed my forehead like it was the last time he ever would.

What if it was?

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **EXPLANATION: Why isn't Anne-Marie trying to get married and have her own kids, or hoping for that for later? This wasn't addressed because Christine understood and was polite, but here goes:**

 **1\. She's mixed race, which wasn't a huge deal like it was(/is) in America or other places, but it was still a problem. She's probably not gonna get too many offers, or any that she'll really want to take up.**

 **2\. Feel free to think of her as not being interested in men (whether women or none), 'cause that's totally an option that would make sense. It's not logical for her to tell someone in this time period, so I can't put that in, but it's totally plausible.**

 **3\. Hey, some women didn't want to marry even then. Spinsters for the win! Christine sure didn't want to for a while even after she had had _un coup de foudre_ with a certain little boy fetching a certain red scarf from the sea.**


	59. Chapter 59: Breathe

Anne-Marie was a blessing from God. I honestly thought, though I knew it sounded silly, that she was the sign of His forgiveness for me. I had someone to talk to, to listen to. And she took over cleaning the house, washing dishes, sewing up dresses, everything save cooking, and seemed genuinely happy to be doing all of it. I suppose I would, too, if I was getting paid 40 francs a week to tend to children, even if they weren't here yet.

Erik didn't trust her, though. I knew he couldn't, that was perhaps why he wouldn't let her make me meals, only allow her to make me my ginger tea when I requested it. He set up a bed for her in the nursery, and bought her a few plain dresses and aprons, which she would pay for over time, I assumed. But then she told me that he was generous and said they were part of her work, so she wouldn't have to pay him back at all!

Erik was behaving so curiously lately. Most of the time he just sat at my feet, buried in my skirts, perfectly silent. He cried often, played and sang when I asked, and I would wake up from my naps to find him reorganizing the nursery over, and over again, to Anne-Marie's confusion.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked worriedly the first day she noticed him doing that.

"No, he's just anxious."

"Oh... Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you. Perhaps you should find something to do for a while... Can you read?"

"Yes, only the Bible, though, that's how I was taught. I couldn't buy any books of my own."

"I have some novels... but maybe Erik won't want you taking my things. I'll make sure. I just don't want you getting bored, since there's not all that much to do."

"It'll be busy once the babies are born."

"Yes, it will be... I've only just now decided on names. I have two girl ones and two boy ones, do you mind if you give your opinion? Erik will agree with whatever I say."

"I'd love to hear them," she said happily.

"I thought about naming them after my parents, but I decided to give them my mother's or father's name for their middle name. And I've always loved French names for girls anyway, the big flowery ones. I think Euphrasie and Félicité for girls, but then for boys I chose Gustav and Hugo."

"They're all very pretty..." She said, almost sighing at them. "Do you mind if I ask, do you want a boy or a girl?"

"Erik wants a girl, I couldn't care less so long as they're healthy."

"Of course, that's all that matters."

"Do you have a favorite name?"

"Hugo... I knew a boy named Hugo at the orphanage."

"Oh?"

And we simply talked, just like that, but mostly I listened. Whenever Erik went to make meals, or out to make purchases, I was alone to talk to Anne-Marie about whatever topic we chose. But I was careful never to talk to her like that with him listening, because I didn't want him to become jealous of her. Besides my selfish desire for a friend, I couldn't bear the thought of sending her away when she was so incredibly happy here.

Happy didn't do her justice; euphoric was the proper word. I had never seen a girl so enthusiastic to do little tasks and clean before in my life!

And she was in awe whenever Erik played for me. She waited outside the door, her ear pressed against it, longing to hear his genius. I had almost forgotten that his music was that of heaven and not earth, and that most people had never experienced such a thing. I felt immense pity for the world, for shunning Erik when he could have contributed so magnificently to it.

Eventually I had Anne-Marie explain to me about the birth.

"It starts out with these sort of cramps," she told me. "Called... contractions. And they get faster, because they're pushing the baby out, and they hurt more and more, I think. At least, it seemed so. The birth took half a day, since it was a girl no older than me... She was taken somewhere afterwards, since she wasn't married, and the orphanage took the baby... Oh, but why am I saying that? What else about the birth... They tell you to breathe a lot during it, and that you should have tea or something to eat before. And then, once the baby's started to go, they tell you to push. And that's when it hurts worst, then the baby's born, and it cries for a little while before going to sleep... That's all I really know. They made me leave near the end, because the poor mother was fading..."

"Thank you for telling me."

She nodded, "Might I ask...? Have you asked Erik about the books?"

"Oh, I forgot, I'm sorry. I'll tell him when he brings me dinner."

"Thank you, madame. I've always wanted to read a novel."

And she got her wish, because I allowed it, and Erik seemed to have gone mute besides singing. But I preferred it to shouting, though his big pitiful eyes behind his mask made my heart weep whenever they latched onto mine.

It had been a week since my false labor, and the tension was thick enough to cut through as the days trickled by.

Erik was spread across the end of my bed when I woke, bleary-eyed and exhausted on March sixth. Why would the babies never let me sleep?

I slipped silently away from him by some miracle, and as I went to pace the hallway, which seemed to sometimes help, I felt my insides contract, then loosen, and I nearly collapsed in fright.

There was something different about this time, in some way. I felt like I _knew_ that this time was real, so I dragged myself hastily into the nursery.

"Anne-Marie, Anne-Marie," I whispered, a little regretful for waking her.

She stirred, then sat bolt upright, "What is it, madame?"

"I need you to get a midwife," I said as calmly as I could.

"But I should be here-"

"Erik can't know, he can't, we have to think of something, I don't know what to do."

"He can't know." She said simply, but her trembling hands betrayed her. "Well, let me find a rag or-"

"What?"

"So he can't hear. Did you put special sheets on your bed or-?"

"No, Erik just said he'd buy new ones-"

"Use mine, then, lie down, let me get you something so he can't hear, and then I'll get dressed."

I knew he would find out no matter what I did, but what else was there to do?

"Can I walk to the midwife?" She asked as she handed me a white cloth and began to hastily pull on one of her gray dresses.

"No, you can't, at least I don't think- oh, wake Erik, then, I need a midwife!"

She hurried off to do so, still fastening her buttons, without question, and I heard Erik's feet almost instantly hit the floorboards.

"Where is she?!" He demanded. "Is she alright?!"

"She's g-giving birth, you need to get the midwife." Anne-Marie replied tremulously.

He was already tearing down the stairs, and Anne-Marie came in looking quite pale.

"Did he frighten you?" I asked.

"Oh, not really, I'm flustered is all... I'm sorry, but I need to check something, I know how to see if it's actually real, I didn't check before because-"

"Do I need to undress?"

"Yes, madame."

"You'll have to help me, then, I don't think I can manage it without help right now."

Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but I didn't care. My nightgown was bunched up around my hips and she gave me a swift glance before concealing me again with my skirt.

"It's real," she said, her voice now a little unsteady. "I'd quite forgotten about the blood..."

"Do I need to do anything now?" I asked, failing to keep from sounding panicked.

"No, madame. Wait for the midwives."

"Wait for the midwives..." I repeated softly.

"I'm going to get everything ready," she told me. "Where are towels?"

"The bathroom... by the kitchen."

"Call for me if something seems wrong."

She hurried downstairs, holding up her skirts in two tight fists so she wouldn't trip.

Another contraction. They kept coming a bit faster each time, hurting more, and I tried to keep from crying out, and succeeded in only moaning at each one. I actually wondered if I was dying a little every time I felt my insides squeeze sharply.

My argument against medicine seemed ludicrous now.

"Here," Anne-Marie said as she came in with an armful of towels, setting them on the pastel yellow dresser and knocking off the porcelain bird, which promptly shattered. "Oh, I'm sorry-"

"I'm pretty sure that doesn't matter at the m-moment," I moaned.

"I'll get the water."

When she came back up with a porcelain bowl of steaming water, the front door opened.

"It'll be alright, monsieur," the crisp voice of an elderly woman said consolingly. "Going away for it is a good idea. It'll make it far easier for us, I promise."

"And it's better for the mother," a younger woman added.

"Yes, less stress for her."

The door shut, and two pairs of footsteps came upstairs just as I moaned in pain. Two women in dark dresses came in, with white aprons, and one seemed in her fifties, while the other was perhaps thirty, both with their brown hair tied up in a chignon.

"How long since they started?" The younger midwife asked.

"Less than a half an hour." Anne-Marie replied. "At four o'clock, I think-"

"And how close are they, the pains?"

"I don't... know."

"Every minute, I think," I told them.

"Good gracious, you're moving quite fast, then... Did you not braid her hair?" She demanded of Anne-Marie.

"No, I didn't-"

"Perhaps you should now. It gets all tangled up in the process. Then make her some tea... Is this your first, madame?" She asked me.

"Yes... I-I think there might be two."

"Two?" The older woman said. "Well, let me see, did you bring the-?"

"Of course." The younger replied.

"Let me listen, dear..."

She pressed what looked like a metal horn onto my stomach, causing me to shiver, while Anne-Marie braided my hair together with quaking hands. The midwife listened intently after I had finished another moan.

"I can't tell," she told me. "We'll have to find out. Now, I need you to breathe. Most of the work is breathing, you'll find."

Breathe...

A simple thing, breathing. But I found it quite difficult- impossible, even- as the pain increased, which I didn't know it could do. They had no medicine, so there was no point in that. They kept telling me to breathe, and then much later to push, and I wondered how long I could bear it for.

I felt as if someone was tearing me apart from the inside out.

I lost track of time, but I knew hours were passing. The room kept getting brighter. There was a numbness that came over me, over my mind, so that I just listened and obeyed, sometimes praying that it would be over soon, praying simple pleas.

Please let there only be one...

"There's the head," A midwife said, but I didn't know which one at that point. "Push harder now, dear, then first one will be out, and we'll see if there's a second. Almost there, dear, almost there."

I must have I nodded, but I couldn't remember. There was nothing but blinding pain, and only hope kept me going, just the knowledge that there would be a baby soon, and the pain would go away. There would be a baby and the pain would go away...

"It hurts," I whimpered, then I screamed.

It wasn't like my other cries, because this pain was sharper, searing, enveloping me. I screamed until my throat was dry and hoarse, then I gasped for breath.

The midwives were dead silent. Had I fainted? Had I died?

Then one spoke in a whisper of a voice, "One last push, dear, hard as you can."

One more, come on, one more... Don't worry about why they're quiet, one more... You have to, you have to, it's almost over... One more, a good, strong one, don't think about the pain-

I screamed even worse than before.


	60. Chapter 60: Morning

"I think it's caught," the older midwife said, hushed, perhaps thinking I was too exhausted to hear her. "And I don't think she's-"

They started to whisper hastily, and I heard the word "blue," then I felt the sudden need to push again. I couldn't tell what came over me, but I willed all my remaining strength (which was precious little) into it, all of it, screaming again.

"She's born!" One exclaimed, I didn't know which.

The pain subsided into a terrible throbbing sensation for a moment, and I breathed heavily, hoping it was over, it had to be over, please let it be over...

Why was it silent? Oh, no...

"Should we try, or...?" The younger nurse whispered.

"Always try." The older replied.

"What's wrong?" I pleaded weakly, my voice a frail wisp. "What's wrong, please, what does she look like?"

"She's not breathing, dear," the older midwife sighed. "It doesn't look like she has been for a time, and her legs were what caused you so much pain, it seems... I'm sorry, but we need to see if there's another-"

I cried out at another contraction, now sobbing. There _were_ two...

Oh, I couldn't do it! Not again, I couldn't go through that again! What if the second one wouldn't breathe either? Or was deformed like the first? And what wrong with her legs? Why had they gone quiet after her head was being born?

And in the midst of my panic, that was when I first heard her cry. Erik's music had introduced me to beauty in pain, and that was her cry: her song. It created this deep yearning in my heart, making me instinctively raise my trembling arms for her, but they went swiftly down at the next contraction to clutch the bedsheets.

"You have a daughter, madame," the younger midwife said. "A miracle, that."

I had no time to rejoice yet; I moaned as I felt the need to push again.

"What's..." I panted, "w-wrong with h-?"

"Don't worry about that, worry about this, right now," the older midwife told me. "Colette will hold her for you until you can."

"I can't, I can't," I moaned, sobbing.

"Yes you can, come on now, the other wants to see the world, too."

I nodded, mostly to convince myself, gathering up my will and focusing it all towards this. One more, one more...

But what if it hurt like the other? Oh, I couldn't do that again, I couldn't!

I had to...

This one took a few minutes, far less than the other, and gave me far less pain as well. She wailed immediately upon finding herself in the world, her song much more vibrant than the other, while I gasped for breath.

It's over, it's over...

"A healthy baby girl," the older midwife said kindly.

One was healthy... and the other?

Anne-Marie helped me sit up a bit more, though she was trembling all over like a leaf still. I saw each midwife holding a white bundle, one of which still continued a passionate wail, and my lips parted as I looked up at them.

They placed them in my arms. Two little baby girls, each with a splotch of blood on their heads, which were covered in hair like peach fuzz. The first one's eyes were wide open, a misty gray. The second one was a deep red from crying, the first pink, and both with lips like flower petals. And such tiny features...

I feared that a breath would shatter them. How fragile they were! How small!

"This one," the younger midwife said hesitantly to me, gesturing to the first, "her legs are... they're malformed."

I nodded silently.

"We were silent because her head was quite blue, and she wasn't coming out more," she explained. "I'm sorry that we frightened you."

"And we're not done yet, there's still the afterbirth," the older reminded.

"Afterbirth?" I asked in concern, my voice still hoarse. "That doesn't h-hurt, does it?"

"Well, you've torn quite a bit, but it won't hurt like the babies... And there should be one for each baby, I believe, but I assume they'll come out together.

One last thing, now. One last thing...

And they waited for the afterbirth while I stared down in wonder at the two baby girls nestled in my arms, both of which had fallen fast asleep. I could feel them, warm and light against me, taking in tiny breaths of air.

The younger midwife came over to me, saying she was going to clean off the babies, and I reluctantly handed her Euphrasie, the second one. Félicité I held tight to. I didn't know how I knew which name to give to which, but my mind was quite decisive on the matter. The second was simply Euphrasie, the first, Félicité, both named quite appropriately after forms of happiness.

Euphrasie was returned to me, still red from crying, but clean now. Then it was Félicité's turn.

Oh, Félicité! I nearly cried aloud as I saw her fully. Her poor pink legs seemed mangled, and her feet had no toes, if one could call them feet, they were like fists... She would never walk with legs like those... And there was a dark spot, like a birthmark, on her lower back... But that had to be just a birthmark, oh, please let it be just a birthmark!

She cried a little while being bathed, then she was wrapped up snugly again and placed back into my arms. Both of them fell asleep, and the younger midwife helped place them on my bare skin, as that was supposed to help with bonding. I was only too happy to have them so close.

But the afterbirth wasn't coming yet, and after nearly an hour of waiting they realized something must be wrong.

And of course, that was when we heard the front door burst open. Erik had returned, seeming to be pursued by the Persian.

"Erik, you'll make her stressed!" Nadir cried desperately. "You'll get in the way of the midwives! You could harm her!"

And to my complete surprise, Erik _listened._ He hesitated on the staircase, said something inaudible, and there was a dull thud, as if he had collapsed. Then I heard footsteps coming up to us, and someone knocked on the door.

"The nursemaid?" The Persian asked. "Could they spare you?"

The older midwife murmured something under her breath that I was certain was a disdainful "men."

But Anne-Marie slipped out, her trembling greatly lessened, and the door swiftly shut.

"I think it's retained," the younger midwife said, hushed, to the older.

"There's still time."

"It's been almost an hour."

"Are you sure...?"

I heard the hum of voices downstairs, but thankfully no shouting. Was Erik still unconscious?

"I want to show my husband," I told them.

"Of course, dear, but the afterbirth won't come." The older midwife told me gently.

The younger offered, "You want to try-?"

"If she starts to bleed worse, we'll have to. She's just torn a little much-

"Bleed?" I practically squeaked. "Have to what?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, dear. A few more minutes."

I tried to keep my mind off how terribly my body ached, how much my stomach moaned, Félicité's poor legs, Erik perhaps still not knowing if I was alright... and the fact that the afterbirth wasn't coming.

Could I die from that?

I felt a contraction, and this one was quite fast and only hurt because I was so terribly exhausted and sore.

"Well thank goodness!" The older midwife exclaimed. "I was worried we'd have to- Well, all finished now, let's clean up a bit and then we'll leave you alone... Oh," she said faintly, "and bleeding afterward is natural. It should go away after a few days... Now let's get a blanket over you and then your husband can visit for a short time."

I smiled down at my daughters. The pain was already a distant memory, with only my throbs and aches as a reminder that it had occurred at all.

It was over, and I was alive... Exhausted, parched, and starving, but alive.

And I had two daughters now! I could be happy at last... Happy... All I wanted was to be happy again.

I started to cry, overwhelmed by a sudden all-encompassing joy. I had two daughters, two beautiful daughters, and the horrible ordeal of bringing them into the world had ended.

The older midwife adjusted my blanket after I had regained my composure somewhat, and the other went to get Erik after washing her hands. There was so much blood...

It was quiet for a moment, then I heard weary footsteps coming upstairs and down the hall, and Erik appeared in the doorway, masked.

I had never truly been happy to see him before then, I realized. I beamed at him as he came over like a ghost, the two holes in his mask showing glassy eyes, though all other emotion was absent.

"Two girls," I told him happily, as much as my weak voice would allow. "Félicité and Euphrasie."

He simply stared, then he came over and felt my face with his hands to be sure I was there. Once he was satisfied that I lived, he started to cry happily.

"You're not dead," he gasped. "You're here! Oh, my Christine-"

"Shh, you'll wake them, dear," I replied gently.

He ran a hand through my hair to be sure it was real, "Are you happy now? You're alive and happy? Is this a dream?"

"It's not a dream. I've never been so happy in all my life.." My eyes welled up with tears. "I'm so h-happy..."

"Don't cry, don't cry, I'll leave-"

"No, I'm c-crying because I'm happy. But... I-I have to tell you... well, um..." I couldn't do it, not yet. "I'm hungry."

It wasn't a _lie._

"Of course, you must be," he said, hurrying away. "Two babies... two girls... Daroga! Daroga, she's going to be happy now! Two girls!"

The midwives told me about how to properly feed them, and that it could take a few days before I would be able to, then they left me alone with Anne-Marie to take care of me. She brought me tea and lunch (with Erik curiously absent), and once this was gone, she took the babies into my room so they could be in their cradles. Then she helped me onto the bed in my room so that she could wash the sheets of the other.

I had never felt so disgusting in all my life. My nightgown was ruined and sticking to me, so Anne-Marie helped me into another, but I was still covered in perspiration and dried tears, and probably blood. I still throbbed and ached, too.

And yet I had never been happier.

Erik came in at last, and pushed the cradles up next to my bed so they could be closer. I thought to ask him to hold one, but by the time he had come to my side I was already asleep.

I woke up to the sound of a cry, and though I was still greatly fatigued, I pulled Félicité out of her cradle moments before Anne-Marie came in. Erik was nowhere to be seen.

"Could I hold one?" She asked, staring down at Euphrasie, who had begun to wail as well.

"You don't have to ask." I told her kindly. "It's your job to stop them from crying."

She smiled, scooping her up carefully and sitting herself down in the rocking chair.

"She's beautiful," she sighed. "They're so tiny."

"Maybe because they were sharing a room... Where's Erik?"

"He's out buying things, I think. He watched you all sleep for a while, but he wouldn't touch the babies, just staring... Are all men like that about children?"

"I assume no... I need to tell him about Félicité-"

"He knows."

"O-oh... How?"

"He demanded," she averted her eyes, "that I tell him if they had deformities, and I had to answer, madame, I'm sorry-"

"No, it's fine... H-how did he react?"

"That's when he watched you all for a while, from the doorway. I think he talked to himself a little, too, but I was busy doing laundry. Then he left, just now."

"I hope he's alright..."

Euphrasie gave a last little whimper before quieting.

"I don't see the problem with deformities," Anne-Marie said suddenly. "Most of the children at the orphanage had something like that, but they're not different inside. It's the same with color. People are so terrible about judging based on appearances."

"They are, aren't they..."

She rocked Euphrasie back to sleep and held her for quite some time, as I did with Félicité. It was so strange, having them there at last. No more fear of birth, because it was done. They were born.

Then Erik returned, laden with gifts wrapped in white and light blue. I smiled at him as he set these at the foot of the bed, atop the chest there.

"How are you?" He asked quietly.

"I've never been so happy or exhausted in all my life," I replied, beaming. "Anne-Marie, would you leave us alone for a little while? Just set Euphrasie in her cradle-"

"Is that the one?" Erik demanded angrily, referring to Euphrasie. "Why are you putting her away-?"

"She's not 'the one,' Erik, this one's name is Euphrasie, and the other is Félicité."

Anne-Marie shut the door behind her as she left.

"The one you're holding?" He asked softly.

"Yes."

"Oh... How bad are her legs? What did Erik do-?"

"No, Erik, please-"

"Let me see! C-Christine, my love, please, I need to see, forgive me..."

"She'll be cold if I unwrap her."

"Oh..."

"I'll show you another time, I promise. But I love her, Erik, I love them both... W-won't you hold one?"

"I'm not supposed to be in here at all," he confessed. "They said it was best if you were alone... Do you want to be alone?"

"But I'm not alone."

"Oh, yes, you aren't... But m-may I kiss you now?" He asked timidly. "Before I leave?"

"Only if you hold one, and I'll even give you a real kiss if you do-"

"But I'll drop her."

"No you won't... Here, sit next to me, I'll hand Félicité to you. She's so beautiful..."

"Erik shouldn't touch-"

"The children you helped make?" I asked, my voice turning forceful and irritated. "I'm not in the mood for this, Erik, I've just pushed two babies out of my body and for heaven's sakes you're going to hold one!"

His hands were trembling as he sat down beside me, and I helped him hold Félicité like one would to a child, supporting his arms.

"I love her so much," I told him, to comfort him, hiding my fears for the poor dear.

"T-take her," he pleaded after no more than a minute of this, and I reluctantly obeyed.

She then started to whine.

"Maybe I should feed her," I told him. "You can watch, if you want. I haven't done this yet..."

He gave no reply, simply staring.

I undid my nightgown, and I had to coax Félicité because she didn't seem to understand at first what was occurring. But she learned quickly, and I found to my surprise that it hurt a little, though I had no desire to part from her. I felt would have been quite happy to remain there forever.

I almost forgot that Erik was sitting beside me, silent and still as marble.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **Twins are somewhat more likely to have one have spina bifida, so that's Félicité's problem. But it's not severe (except her legs); it's occult, and that can go unnoticed until adulthood, even. I researched this and I helped out at a foster home with a girl with kinda this type of spina bifida, and have a family member with it, so I know a lot about this personally. Spina bifida is a rare birth defect, and it has three types all involving a problem with the lower spine, but I'm not going to go into detail, you can look it up if you want. It commonly includes club feet or similar things like that.**

 **It is a version I made to be a bit easier for the fic, though, just FYI.**


	61. Chapter 61: Recovery

After being silent for perhaps a half an hour, his eyes latching onto the babies, the window, the light below it- anything but my eyes- Erik came over to me timidly.

"May I sit with you?" He asked.

"Of course," I replied, sliding over slightly more on the bed and promptly wincing.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just-"

"What's wrong?!"

"Shh, the babies. And don't shout at me.

"Forgive me," he pleaded. "Forgive me, my love, please-"

"Of course I forgive you, come sit down."

"But why did you wince?"

"I... I hurt a little still, from the birth. I, um, I think my... Well, the midwives said I... tore. You know... _there._ "

His eyes widened behind his mask, and his voice came out weakly, "Tore?"

"But they acted like it wasn't really an issue." I added hastily. "It'll heal up-"

He started to sob, "It's Erik's fault! He gave you a deformed baby, and her legs were hard to be born, that must be why-"

"Her name is Félicité!" I snapped. "And you've woken them up by being so loud, look!"

I regretted the angry words the moment they had left my mouth, but indeed both babies were now wailing. After I had reached over to tend to them, I looked up and found that Erik had slipped away in his shame.

Oh, why couldn't he just be happy? Yes, Félicité wouldn't be able to walk, and that was horrible, and it pained me to think of, but how could he be miserable over that when she was healthy besides? Perfectly healthy and beautiful? And I was happy, couldn't he see that I was happy, and that I would love her regardless?

Wasn't that what he had wanted?

For a while I was alone with them, cooing over the little dears, with Anne-Marie coming in to check on me every so often. I wanted to lie down on my stomach and watch their little bodies rising and falling with their breaths as they lay in their cradles, but I was still quite swollen and sore, so I was worried that might be an uncomfortable, if not painful, position for me.

I wrapped my daughters' little fists about my finger as they slept. I hadn't known how tiny they would actually be, and how beautiful. Never in my life had I wanted to gaze upon something for eternity, but I couldn't turn away from their gray eyes once they had opened, and even when these had shut, I was still lost to them.

Félicité yawned a little pink 'O' as Anne-Marie came in to check on me again. She had changed her dress and apron, but they were practically the same, the dress just a hint darker gray.

"Monsieur Erik said I should make you a bath now," she told me. "Is that fine? He was very particular about whether you wanted to or not."

"That would be wonderful. The little room across from this one has the bathtub, and you'll have to warm up the water in this fireplace and carry it across the hall."

"Yes, madame. I'll watch the babies while you bathe, too."

I smiled playfully, "How do I know this isn't just a way for you to be alone with them?"

She beamed, "You don't. I'll have the bath ready as soon as I can, madame-"

"Oh, wait, before that, could you ask Erik to bring me an apple, or strawberries and cream, anything we have like that?"

"Of course, madame."

"Thank you so much."

She left the door open and I heard her light footsteps going downstairs.

She came back up to make my bath. As she busied herself with this, Erik came upstairs with a small mountain of strawberries and cream for me in a little porcelain bowl.

He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Erik, I've forgiven you," I told him kindly, but with caution. "I promise... I know you're having trouble getting accustomed to this, and it's hard... You can sit beside me now, if you want. I don't mind."

"You should be alone..." he said, his voice soft with shame. "The midwives said you should be alone with the babies... Erik shouldn't be coming in-"

"But I want you coming in... Come sit with me while I eat."

"Will that make you happy?"

"Happi _er_."

I wanted to press him about his mask, but I knew that was a terrible idea. That would come later.

He sat down beside me, and his hands trembled a little on the blankets.

"Do you want your kiss?" I asked, thinking that ought to be the cause of his timidity.

"No..."

"What do you want, then?"

"To be here, my love, only here with you... Are you going to eat your strawberries?"

"Of course..." I took a sweet bite. "Thank you for getting them."

"The Persian man is buying flowers for you," he said suddenly, seeming pleased with himself. "Lots of flowers. He'll be back soon."

"Oh, that's nice of him... Speaking of flowers, I want to take the babies out into the garden once I'm not so sore. It'll be nice for them, especially in late spring."

"B-but... what about the stairs?"

Always the stairs...

"We'll be careful." I told him. "You can stand right beside me to help, and we can take them down one at a time, if you want. But they can't be trapped up here all the time."

He shook his head furiously, "No, no, they can't, of course not, not like Erik, he was never allowed to go outside, so they have to be free to go outside, whenever they want, how terrible Erik is to suggest otherwise, they can go where they please, with their mother... How long until you're better?" He said, suddenly excited. "Could we take them to the park, in the little pram I bought you? Will you be better by Sunday? Oh, we can be perfectly normal, if Félicité is covered up-"

"Why do you keep mentioning that?" I pleaded irritably. "It upsets me."

"Oh, my poor Christine! It is upsetting, forgive Erik for giving you an imperfect child-"

"Her name is Félicité! I swear, if you mention her by anything other than her name today again I won't say another word to you until tomorrow! And I won't sing for... for a month!"

He was still in horror, "M-my dear, I-"

"Do you not think she's beautiful?" I demanded, my eyes welling up with tears as the babies started to fuss at the noise. "Is she this ugly thing to you just because God gave her different legs than most people?... Well I think she's p-perfect, and you'll treat her like she is, b-because she _is._ "

"Oh, my love, forgive me! Forgive me! Don't cry, don't cry, please... She's whatever you say, whatever will make you happy, my dear little Christine, and Erik promises that they'll be treated like little angels! He'll buy them pretty dresses and toys, anything you request! Anything!... Don't cry, don't cry, oh, and they cry, because Erik frightened them, he'll leave now, leave you alone, because he upsets you."

"Erik-"

But he was already gone. Anne-Marie came in, looking quite bewildered.

"Is the water boiling?" She asked. "I didn't think I should come in-"

"It's fine." I sighed. "Erik's just having trouble adjusting. Once you get that, could you help me quiet them?"

"Yes, madame, I'll be quick."

She shuffled out with the water, and I picked up Euphrasie, setting her beside me, and then Félicité. I put pillows underneath my arms and scooped them both up, finding that this idea worked wonderfully, as I could hold them both with little effort. But they refused to quiet at this, however, so when Anne-Marie returned she took Félicité and walked around the room with her. That seemed to work, so then she tried it with Euphrasie. But she whined and fussed regardless, until Anne-Marie handed her to me in defeat and, of course, the little dear instantly silenced.

Welcome to motherhood, Christine.

"The bath is almost ready," Anne-Marie told me after a little while of her attending to it. "Maybe ten minutes."

"Thank you."

I found that Euphrasie's gray eyes were wide open, blinking up at me. I smiled down at her, and she looked up at the ceiling for a moment before staring, transfixed, into what seemed the very depths of my soul.

"The bath is ready." Anne-Marie told me.

She helped me set Euphrasie back, and thankfully she didn't fuss at this. Then she helped me shuffle into the bathroom. It was all filled up with steam and the first step into the water was ecstasy.

I soaked until the water turned cold, and I somehow managed to (uncomfortably) get into a fresh nightgown, that Anne-Marie had thoughtfully set out, by using the chair it had been resting on.

Upon opening the door, I found Erik coming upstairs, and he was instantly at my side.

"Why are you standing?" He asked. "Doesn't it hurt you?"

"A little, could you help?"

"I could carry you."

"Just support me; that's enough."

If only I could have a husband to support me in other ways, who I could cry all my worries into and not concern myself with being cautious about telling everything that ailed my heart.

But I had Erik, and in his own way, he had me and did his best to take care of me. It was far better than most had, and I had to remember to remind myself of this.

The Persian came shortly after I had sat back down on the bed, and Erik brought him up to see us. They were both carrying a vase of flowers, which they set on my nightstand and desk.

"Oh, they're lovely," I said happily. "Thank you for being with Erik while I had the babies."

"Of course, madame." The Persian replied quietly.

"Isn't Erik so good with promises?" Erik told me proudly. "He stayed with the Persian all morning until he couldn't bear it anymore, like you said!"

"Thank you, dear," I said, smiling and glancing down at the two little darlings nestled on either side of me.

"We shouldn't stay in here long," Erik told me suddenly. "The midwives said short visits, if any... Have you looked at them, daroga?"

"Yes, they're beautiful little girls," the Persian replied. "Congratulations to you both."

"Thank you," I beamed.

"We should leave," Erik said hurriedly, practically shoving the Persian out of the room and shutting the door.

"Erik, I have feet, you know," he argued.

"We have to let my wife rest. Erik's already been in there far too much. She should be alone with her babies... Have you seen the nursery? It's a normal nursery, let me show you, all pretty for the babies-"

"You showed me a week ago-"

"-and my wife made socks and sweaters..."

I sighed. At least he was happy now.

The Persian left shortly after that, probably having slipped away during Erik's ramblings about the babies, and I didn't see Erik for the rest of the day. Anne-Marie brought me dinner, then dressed the girls in the smallest dresses that Erik had bought.

But this meant I had to see Félicité again. I knew it was awful that I didn't want to look at her poor legs, but I was worried they would be worse than I remembered.

I did look, though. I realized that I had been slightly incorrect earlier, thinking that she didn't have toes. They were just too tiny for me to have noticed from where I was. Her little ankles were turned in, and her feet curled up like fists, impossible to comfortably walk on. She was bow-legged, not exactly mangled as I had thought before, and thankfully it seemed they could bend a little, since they wiggled slightly as we moved her. It didn't seem like she could move them herself, though, which frightened me.

But then Anne-Marie gasped.

"What?" I pleaded, horrified. "What's wrong?"

"The spot on her back, it's... it's rather dark, I think... I think I know what she has."

"What? Please, tell me what."

"There was a little girl, a-about a year old, at the orphanage, and she had sort of a... a thing on her back, like a bulb, sort of, and they called it spinal... something, I can't remember. I think it was two words... She had a messed up foot, too, but only one, and couldn't move her legs... They treated her with some sort of vaccine or other, I think, but it didn't do anything to help exactly, and her head kept slowly swelling up... Is it like that? A bulb?"

"It's not really sticking out, s-so it doesn't seem like that." I sighed in relief that I truly didn't have yet. "But it's such a strange mark..."

I wrapped her back up again and held her against myself, feeling suddenly protective of her. She couldn't have whatever spinal thing Anne-Marie had talked about. She couldn't!

"Maybe you should have a doctor come," Anne-Marie offered.

"No, no," I said hastily, pushing away the thought. "I don't... I don't want him to hurt her, or anything. He might want to do something to her that would hurt."

"Oh, maybe... So I assume I shouldn't tell Monsieur Erik about the mark?"

"Yes, lie if you must. He'll want a doctor to come if he sees it."

"But surely he wouldn't if you were opposed?"

"Perhaps... but I would rather not have to rely on that."

"I understand, madame."

"I think I'm going to bed now, nice and early. Goodnight, Anne-Marie."

"Goodnight. I'll come when the babies cry. They often wake up at night."

"Wonderful." I said sarcastically.

She smiled as she left.

And they did wake up, when the sky was pitch black and I was fast asleep. Anne-Marie came in with a candle as I sat upright, rubbing my eyes.

"You can sleep if you want, madame," she offered, picking up Euphrasie, who seemed to be fussing more.

"Oh, I'm fine. Let me try feeding them."

She handed me Euphrasie and bent down to hold Félicité, who wasn't fully crying, only making little whimpers like she was about to.

"Let's hope this works better this time, dearie," I told Euphrasie.

It seemed like she was able to get a few drops, and she quieted after only a short while, so Anne-Marie exchanged her with Félicité. She, however, kept whining even after I had fed her.

"Let me change her diaper," Anne-Marie offered, setting her on the bed. "Maybe that's her problem. What's wrong, Félicité?"

It was nice that I wouldn't have to worry about doing that myself most of the time, though she had showed me how to a few days prior to the birth when I had asked.

"I think that's better," she told me. "Do you want me to put her back?"

"Yes, please... Let's hope I can fall back asleep-"

And then there was a quiet knock on the door, and Erik peeked inside.

"Why do they cry?" He asked.

"They just stopped," I replied, yawning.

"Do you want something to make you fall back asleep?"

"That would be nice... Do you want something, Anne-Marie?"

"No thank you, I fall back asleep quickly. Goodnight, madame... a-and monsieur."

Erik moved to the side so she could slip out. No matter what she said, he did frighten her. Her voice was fragile when he was nearby, and she made every effort to avoid him.

"I'll go make your tonic," he told me, turning to go downstairs.

I sighed tiredly, and instinctively placed my hands on my abdomen. It was still quite large, but empty now. I was happy for that, though, and I hoped it would shrink up again soon. Would I be able to wear my old dresses again, or would my hips stay this wide?

Erik came up with my tonic, and I asked him to lie down with me while I fell asleep, since I wanted to be held.

He was colder than I remembered before, and his edges were all sharp. I knew I was round and soft in comparison, but because of how sore I was, he feared doing anything more than lying beside me.

Then, once I was falling into that moment just before sleep, I heard him whisper, "Erik shouldn't be here. Goodnight, my love."

The tonic dragged me into sleep.


	62. Chapter 62: Menagerie

I had a wonderful dream more terrible than a nightmare.

I was sitting upright in bed. My room was bathed in golden light and beside me were my two daughters, tiny and perfect, exhaling little breaths in their sleep. I smiled down at them and planted a delicate kiss on each of their downy-soft foreheads.

"Christine?" My father asked, knocking on my door.

I beamed, "Come in, Papa."

Maman and him entered, immediately proceeding to coo over the babies.

"What perfect little dears!" Maman exclaimed.

I handed one to her to hold, and she rocked her and wrapped the little hand about her frail finger. My papa kissed my forehead and held my hand.

"How brave you are, my dear," he said. "And how lovely they both are."

I smiled, "Thank you..."

"I brought some flowers for you."

As soon as these words had met my ears, the room was enveloped in lilacs, growing out of the walls like crystals.

"They're lovely," I told him.

"Where is your husband?" He inquired, glancing towards the door.

"He's out in the garden."

"Why is he out there?"

"The midwives said it helps for the father to be in a garden after the birth."

"Oh, of course."

"What dears!" Maman crooned. "They'll look just like their mother."

"They do bear a near perfect resemblance to how she looked as a baby," Papa added. "And I didn't think there would ever be a more beautiful child than her, but these two may have proved me wrong."

My cheeks were stinging from smiling, and the door began to open.

Perhaps my mind couldn't make itself up about who I was married to, who was opening the door, because it was then that I woke, my heart warm with hope.

I quickly realized it had been a cruel dream. I started to sob, burying my face in a pillow so Erik wouldn't hear my useless tears, but he could always hear me cry...

There was a knock on the door. Oh, please let it be Anne-Marie-

"Christine?" Erik said softly from the other side.

He gently nudged open the door and found me with tears running down my cheeks, a pillow clutched to my chest.

"My dear Christine!" He cried. "What's wrong? Why do you cry? My love, don't cry, what do you need?"

The babies started to fuss, and I swallowed my tears for a moment so I could retrieve them.

"I'm just sad that..." I took a shaky breath. "My father never got to see his grandchildren... o-or Maman..."

And I dissolved into tears again, Félicité in my right arm and Euphrasie in my left joining me.

"I need to feed them," I told him, wanting a distraction. "I'll be alright, let me feed them, I'll be alright-"

"I thought you believed in heaven," he remarked.

"Well, yes," I glanced at him in confusion, sniffling as my tears subsided. "I believe in heaven."

"Then they can see the babies from there."

My lower lip quivered, "Yes, they c-can, can't they? They can see our daughters..."

He stiffened at this. I realized it was the first time I had referred to them as such.

"They are ours," I told him, unbuttoning my nightgown. "Not just mine."

"But we can hope," he replied pensively, his eyes latching onto the window to preserve my modesty. "Will they be like you?"

I began to feed Euphrasie, since Félicité wasn't fussing as much, "Maybe. But they're not me; they could be different."

"They look like two little Christines..." he sighed happily, though his gaze remained fixated on the window. "Two little Christines, even though one is-"

"Please, I'm not in the mood to argue," I pleaded, adjusting a Euphrasie and wincing a little at my soreness. "And besides, isn't it hypocritical of you to keep bringing that up?"

"But she's not like Erik, so how is it hypocritical? She's beautiful, like her mother, but... she won't ever walk. Erik can do everything a normal man can, but she... At least women wear skirts that will conceal-"

"Is it your mask that's making you talk like this?" I demanded.

"N-no, my love-"

"Well, I hate it. Whenever Anne-Marie isn't around, I don't want you to wear it."

"You wish to be cruel to the babies?"

"No, Erik, I just think that... If Félicité grows up with a father ashamed of his own face, how will she feel about her legs?"

"And you would prefer she had this sight to meet her eyes instead?"

"I've seen you for a year now." Euphrasie was quickly appeased, so I replaced her with Félicité. "What's the difference? And she won't even notice if she grows up looking at your real face."

"My mother lived nine years with me and even she couldn't bear the sight of me!" He cried, making Euphrasie whine. "Don't tell me time solves everything, Christine, my darling, you know nothing."

"But if we raise them-"

"We?" He asked curiously, quieting. "You... You're their mother. You're going to raise them."

"Then you're going to ignore them entirely?"

"No, my love, I'll buy them gifts."

"Gifts? Erik, they're your daughters too-"

"No. They're not. You wanted them, so I gave you them, and now you can take care of them as you wanted, to make you happy. And they would prefer you to me anyway."

"Then you'll avoid them?"

"Do you want them to be around Erik?" He asked, as if the thought was abhorrent.

"What about music? You would deny them your music-?"

"No, no, never music. Only Erik's company."

I sighed, "I don't want to discuss this anymore. It's a miracle they haven't started wailing at the noise."

"Oh, forgive me-"

"I'm hungry," I told him to derail him. "Could you make me breakfast?"

"Of course," he replied, going off to do so.

I settled the babies at my sides, starting to wonder where Anne-Marie had gone off to. Perhaps she had slipped away to buy herself something? Gone on a walk? But that didn't seem like her at all. She had not gone out ever that I could recall, unless it was to run an errand for Erik (therefore, for me), but that was incredibly rare.

She came into my room just after noon, a tremor in her little frame, her arms wrapped around a white basket of lilacs. Her hands shook as she placed these upon my dresser.

Had Erik berated her? I hadn't heard anything...

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Forgive me, madame," she replied, her voice surprisingly steady. "Monsieur Erik requested that I buy flowers, but I couldn't find lilacs, he wanted lilacs specifically. But I was afraid to return and I... I-I..."

"Where is he? Has he hurt you?"

"N-no, madame, he was at the piano and didn't notice me."

"Oh... Then why do you look as if you've seen a ghost?"

"I was just frightened is all, madame..." She explained nervously. "And I would prefer it if... if you didn't inquire about my person."

"Oh, I'm sorry Anne-Marie, I didn't mean to pry. I was only concerned..." I glanced over at the flowers. "The lilacs are lovely."

"Thank you, I'm glad. I was so worried I wouldn't find any... How are the babies?"

"Asleep," I smiled warmly. "But I'm sure one will wake soon, followed by the other."

"Let's hope not too soon."

"Yes, a nap would be nice... I didn't expect myself to be so tired still."

"Well, I'll watch them for you while you sleep."

"Thank you. Erik has to make me lunch first before I can, though... You said he was at the piano?"

"Yes... just staring, though, not playing. Staring ahead, I couldn't tell what at."

"Just staring..." I repeated softly. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, but would you tell him I need to speak with him?"

"Yes, madame."

She made no hesitation to get him. Whatever had frightened her was not Erik.

Then what had? What was she hiding, surely she was hiding something?

But it wasn't my place to force her to tell me her secrets. They were hers to keep.

"Is something wrong?" Erik demanded, bursting into my room.

"I just want lunch, and to talk," I replied, sighing as the babies began to cry.

"Oh, forgive me," he pleaded, staring down at them, his eyes seeming almost fearful behind his mask.

"You were concerned is all..."

I placed the little ones at my sides. They were still so delicate, so tiny, seeming like they would shatter if not handled with the utmost care.

"They're so beautiful, aren't they?" I sighed as they quieted. "Thank you for them, Erik dear."

"I didn't do much," he told me simply.

I felt my cheeks burning, and I nearly laughed, "I... I suppose not really. But you cared for me."

"You made them, though," he told me, coming closer after a moment of hesitation, so that he could gaze upon them. "How strange women are to make babies, and then feed them and love them, and be perfectly content with that for all their lives..."

I bit my lip, "Erik, I've been meaning to ask... Do you trust Anne-Marie to look after them, alone? So that I can come sing with you alone, and talk to you?"

He started to cry, burying his face in my bedsheets, "But you won't love Erik now-"

"What?" I said, bewildered at this unprompted claim. "When did I-?"

"You have two babies now, and you have to love them all the time, so Erik will be alone or watching-"

"Anne-Marie can take care of them sometimes-"

"Not yet. Not until they're older."

"But when they sleep-"

"You'll be tired and want to sleep..." He argued miserably. "But it's alright, my little Christine, quite alright. You've given Erik his happiness and now you receive yours-"

"I love you, too..." I pleaded. "After all we've been through, how could I not?"

He seemed to understand the logic in this, though there really wasn't much. People loathed those they spent the most time with unwillingly, didn't they? And to be honest, I called what I felt for Erik 'love,' but I still didn't quite know what it was.

"Come here," I asked gently. "I want to show you something."

He came closer to me, and I patted the bed for him to sit down upon, smiling to put him at ease.

"I want you to feel how soft they are," I told him.

"But..." he replied, hesitant, "but it's not good-"

"What can your hand do? You have such control over it through music, don't you?... How could you possibly hurt them?"

He looked down at them. Félicité had her eyes wide open, her big, misty eyes, and her pink lips parted in a yawn. I heard Erik exhale in awe.

"Aren't they darlings?" I whispered.

I ran my finger over her soft forehead, and her eyes wandered around for a moment, searching for the cause. She stared up at me with incredible intensity.

"Let me hold your hand," I told Erik, extending my palm to him.

His bony hand trembled as he offered it to me, and I clasped it in mine.

"Am I cold? He asked, concerned.

"No, she'll be fine."

I guided his hand to her forehead, letting his fingers graze it. He gasped, withdrawing.

"She's softer than..." but he stopped himself.

"Softer than me?" I asked. "Far softer..." Then I flushed, suddenly feeling rather bold, "Or were you going to say my... my bosom?"

He was silent.

I smiled in amusement, "I suppose I don't mind talking about that now, at least I shouldn't, not now that it seems I'm half-naked most of the day."

He knotted his fingers together, perhaps in embarrassment... or something more...

"I'm sorry, dear, did I upset you?" I asked. "I was only teasing."

"H-... Have you forgiven Erik..." he said, his voice frail, "f-for when he... w-when he... when we shared a bed?"

"Why would I forgive you for something that I requested?"

"Because he should have... he should have been content with only doing what was... necessary, but he asked for more, and you... you sometimes let him. Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe because I simply loved you and wanted to give you more than just what I asked for."

"It wasn't right-"

"Oh, shh, that's long gone now. You should've asked before."

"Long gone..." he whispered.

"If you want, though, I'm perfectly fine with you coming in every once in a while to come sleep beside me. I don't mind, so long as you don't mind being woken by them. Anne-Marie says they'll wake up exclusively at the worst times."

"You can be alone..."

"If you say so... Oh, but I haven't given you your kiss yet. The one I promised you for when the babies were born."

"Yes... you haven't."

"Raise your mask a little."

He rose suddenly, "I have to compose!"

"Compose? Compose what?"

But the door had shut behind him already. I sighed, running my hand over Félicité's forehead.

"My precious darling," I crooned, kissing her gently and causing her to fuss. "Is that so bad? I won't do it if you dislike it... Your sister's fast asleep over there, isn't she pretty? Just like you, how pretty you both are."

She blinked up at me, her eyes staring into my very soul. I felt like I was about to cry.

Erik and I were so incredibly strange in our relationship. We had shared a bed last summer, fell asleep in intimate positions, whether I despised it or not, whether I tried to untangle myself or not, and now he was shy about small kisses again! When I had given him all of me, without restriction (though he had rarely taken even close to all). How did we still behave this way? As if that summer was a dream and nothing more, and in reality we were still untouched and timid?

I didn't understand it.

Erik composed for over an hour before realizing he had neglected to make me any lunch that day. He came in with a bowl of soup, stammering apologies that I silenced by kissing his white mask.

This made him collapse to his knees, holding the edges of his mask with trembling hands, "M-my kiss, Christine, my dear, c-could I have it now? My real one? Because you've forgiven y-your dear Erik?"

"Of course," I replied, swiftly meeting my lips to his.

I had forgotten how awful the sensation was. How had I managed to do it so often before? Whenever he asked, how?

But I smiled after it, and he kissed the hem of my nightgown in gratitude and reverence. Then he replaced his mask and asked timidly to stay with me, as the babies were in their cribs, fast asleep.

After I ate, I curled up on his chest, in his uncomfortable embrace. I was in a pleasant state of sleepiness, having just eaten a warm meal and been exhausted the whole afternoon, so I didn't mind his jagged edges and skeletal frame so much. I just wanted someone there.

To think of all the things I had done with him, given to him, and yet I still couldn't say to myself that I loved him. Perhaps it was because my heart had never been mine to give since my scarf blew into the sea all those years ago.

If I could forget Raoul, I could be happy. I realized this, of course, and yet I refused to accept it. How could I forget him?

Hearts were such troublesome things!

The days drifted by, with more useless arguments over Félicité that never accomplished anything. The babies were just as Anne-Marie had said: crying at the worst times. And Erik spent most of his time composing, leaving Anne-Marie and I alone to adore Félicité and Euphrasie to our heart's content.

And soon it was Sunday.

"Are you feeling well enough?" Erik asked the moment I had opened my eyes that morning.

I stretched my arms out over my head, yawning, "For what?"

"The park," he replied, sounding hurt.

"Oh... I don't know, I... I don't think I could walk that far."

"You could take a brougham, to the closer park, the little one, and Anne-Marie could push the pram with me... W-would you be able to then?"

"I think... I think that would be alright."

"I'll bring a cushion for you to sit on," he told me happily. "And we can sit only for a little while before going back."

I smiled, "I just need to be careful with myself."

"Of course, my dear, we have to be careful... We could have a picnic! Would that be nice?"

"Yes, it would be... What dress should I wear?" I asked, knowing his preference.

He dug the lilac dress out of my closet, timidly setting it down on my bed, "This one."

"Of course... Why always this one?"

"Because it makes you look beautiful... D-don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"You should dress, then we can leave," he said hastily.

"But Erik, please, why lilacs?"

He lingered in the doorway, and replied quietly, "Because you look lovely among them."

He shut the door behind himself.

Once dressed, he helped me downstairs, one baby in my arms at a time. He didn't trust Anne-Marie with the task, even though he knew it was tedious for me to walk up and down twice.

I placed the little dears in the pram under a knitted pastel yellow blanket, tucking it delicately about them and turning to the open doorway. It was strange; I was going outside.

When was the last time I had done that?

We five stepped out of the house, onto the quiet street. There was a park quite close, smaller than the one we had visited before, but we had to be able to walk to it. And besides, less people would stare at a smaller park.

"It's so lovely out here," I sighed as Erik helped me into a brougham he had gotten for me.

"Yes, it is," he replied.

"I'll see you soon, dear. It'll be so nice to be outside today."

He nodded, shutting the door. I stared out the window at the little menagerie that started towards the park.


	63. Chapter 63: Silhouette

The weather was perfect... Well, to a girl from Sweden, as there was a slight wind and Erik had insisted I wear a cloak. But to me, there was no other word to describe the air in the early spring but perfect, full of life and with that distinct dewy scent in the air.

The babies both had their eyes wide open at the blue sky dotted with big puffy clouds, and Anne-Marie was sitting at the base of their pram, her book open and a brown finger at her lips. I was beneath a tree, leaning against it, on a little cushion beside Erik. I had been making an attempt to be playful with him, but this had quickly failed and we had fallen into silence.

So I sighed, leaning back a little further.

"Are you tired?" Erik asked, concerned.

"No, I'm fine." I smiled quietly. "I'm wonderful, actually."

A little girl in white, with a blue dash across her stomach, came running past us, chasing another girl identical to her, save that she was half her size. The older stopped, her mouth agape in curiosity, and she came over to the pram.

"Ooh," she sighed, but then she caught Erik's gaze and darted away.

Anne-Marie looked over at me and we smiled at each other before she returned to her book. A gust of wind shifted a strand of hair from my face and I tucked it back behind my ear.

Then I felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to cry. It frightened me in its intensity, and I found myself placing my head upon Erik's lap, to his bewilderment.

"Is something wrong?" He asked in concern.

I shook my head against his legs. There had been moments like this ever since the babies were born, when I had suddenly become mute for fear I would cry if I spoke.

He tentatively ran his hand through my hair, and I shivered.

"Forgive me," he said miserably. "Erik thought you wanted... forgive me."

I nodded.

"Why are you quiet?" He asked. "You sometimes are like this now, when you get all quiet and secretive... Perhaps you don't want Erik to talk-"

Félicité, for I could now tell apart their distinct cries, hers sweeter and softer than her sisters, started to wail, and I began to cry.

Anne-Marie set her book aside and scooped up the little dear, bringing her to me. Erik sat me upright, and I extended my arms for my daughter, my face dripping with tears.

"I can't bear her cry," I managed out.

"Hold her, then, my love," Erik insisted. "She'll quiet with her mother."

I nodded, "She'll quiet..."

But she continued to whine, and I sobbed harder.

"What's wrong?" Erik pleaded. "My love, why do you cry?"

"She won't stop," I tried to explain myself. "I can't stop her, I c-can't."

"Madame?" Anne-Marie said, equally concerned for me. "Do you want me to take her?"

I hesitated a moment, but handed her back. Félicité's cries softened to little fusses, and Anne-Marie dug a bottle out of the picnic basket for her. It ceased her sobs, and mine, which became tearful breaths.

"Is this upsetting you?" Erik asked. "Should we go back home?"

"No, no... I'm fine, I am," I smiled weakly. "I'll be... f-fine..."

I lied back down on his sharp knee, shutting my eyes for a moment. Breathe, breathe...

What was wrong with me?

"Maybe you should eat," Erik offered.

"Maybe," I replied, leaning against the tree as he left to get my strawberries and cream.

He placed the white bowl in my hands, seeming quite pleased with himself, and he sat down beside me contentedly. I ate slowly and silently, stirring my fork around in the intervals.

Euphrasie began to wail, and hers was far more coarse and needy, irresistible.

"Do you want to hold her this time?" Anne-Marie inquired, having just set an appeased Félicité back.

"Could you, please?" I asked.

"Of course, madame."

Erik glanced over at me, "Are you unwell? Why don't you want to hold them?"

"I don't know... I'll hold them when we get home. I promise."

"But why not now?"

"Because I don't want to now!" I snapped. "I'll hold them when we get home..."

"Are you sure you're well?" He placed his hand on my forehead. "You might be a little warm."

"I'm fine... I want to stay," I pleaded.

"Of course, my love, we can stay."

I nodded, resting my head back on his knee and falling asleep.

When I woke, we had our picnic together, then Anne-Marie gathered up everything to take back. As soon as she turned around to us, she promptly dropped the basket, spilling its contents and trembling all over.

"I'm so sorry," she told Erik and I, cleaning up the mess. "I'm so clumsy, nothing broke, oh, I'm so clumsy..."

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Fine," she replied, glancing at a spot above my shoulder. "Fine..."

I turned and spotted a dark figure a little ways off. I knew I was somewhat nearsighted, but I could tell it was a man, due to the silhouette.

"Who is that?" I asked her.

"Who?" She replied, gathering up everything in the basket again.

"The man over there. Do you know him?"

"I've never seen him before... Do you know him?"

"No..."

"I'm going to get a brougham for you, my dear," Erik told me, ignoring Anne-Marie's evident distress as he went towards the street.

"What's wrong?" I demanded of her. "You were like this yesterday, I know you're lying."

"I'm sorry, madame," she told me, burying her chin in her chest. "I'll tell you when we get back. Just... please, let's leave soon, I'm sorry, I... I'm so sorry..."

"Alright... Alright, no more lies. I expect you have a reason for it, but still."

"I'm sorry, I truly am, I-I have a reason, I'll tell you, I promise... L-let me start taking the pram to Monsieur Erik."

I rode a brougham home and arrived before they did. I placed myself on the sofa in the drawing room, next to the two little bassinets that Erik had bought for the babies, and thought over how to get rid of him. I needed to speak with Anne-Marie.

The door opened, and they both came in, Anne-Marie taking great care with the pram as she put it in the corner. Then she placed the babies in the bassinets.

"Erik?" I asked.

"What, my love?" He replied.

"When are the babies being christened?"

"Whenever you prefer."

Anne-Marie caught my eye. I suppose it was strange for a Protestant to want a christening and not simply an infant baptism...

She trembled a little still as she took the picnic basket into the kitchen.

"Could we do it two weeks from now?" I offered, smiling. "I think a Monday might be nice, so we don't have to be in a crowd on Sunday."

"Whatever you want for the babies."

"Thank you... Oh, Erik dear, could-? I'm sorry, I know we just got back from the park, but... I'm all out of chocolates, and I would quite like to have a few."

"Of course, my love, I didn't know you were out."

"And could you get the caramel ones? The ones with salt on top?"

"Of course, my dear, do you want anything else?"

"That's fine..." I smiled prettily. "I'll give you a kiss when you get back."

He left, delighted to go out and buy something for me.

I exhaled as my face fell, "Now, Anne-Marie, I want you to tell me the truth. I'm concerned for you, I really am."

She promptly broke down, "Please, madame, don't let me go, I've done a good job here, haven't I? You can lower my pay, it's already too high, please, I won't lie again-"

"I don't want to let you go any more than you do. But you have to tell me why you were upset the other day and today, and who was that man?"

She stared at me, then out the window like she wanted to escape.

"H-he's... he's my father," she confessed, sitting down in the armchair across from me, the one besides Erik's.

"Your father?" I asked gently.

"At least, he says he is... I'm sure he is..."

"Why are you afraid of him?"

She looked as if she wanted to dissolve into the cushions of her armchair, "A-after... after I left my position a-as a nursemaid, but not really, I told you this... I was so distraught because I thought life would never be happy for me. I had no one except God and that was supposed to be enough... but... I was in poverty for a while, because I was ashamed for leaving and didn't think I could return to the convent... I didn't think they would let me become a nun now... A-and I didn't really realize it, but I was starving, and a man found me, and fed me, and I told him my name and thanked him... H-he said he suspected that... That he was my father. He lied to me that he had loved my mother and married her, but I learned she was just one of his... his... I don't know, but I trusted him. And he took me to a side of Paris I had never seen, and he was rather wealthy, and for a week he gave me sweets and presents, and pretended to love me, as his long-lost daughter... Then he took me back to his apartment, his fancy apartment with a separate guest room that I had occupied... And he made my position clear... H-he gave me a choice, though, he did let me choose at first..."

"What choice?" I inquired, hoping it wasn't what I suspected.

"He told me that," she took a shuddering breath. "That since I was mixed and penniless, I would never be married. I had known that before, but... He offered that if I worked for him, for the place he owned, I could live in his apartment, and have all the pretty things he had promised... dresses and chocolates and... But I knew it was a sin what he had requested-"

"I don't understand, dear, what did he own? Forgive me, where did he want you to work?"

She wouldn't meet my eyes, "One of the places... d-do you know about the places with all the women in them? And the men pay money for them?"

I nodded gently.

"That... A-and I had always been foolish and naive... And I just wanted someone with me," she told me, pleading to be understood, "and he seemed like he loved me, like a father, so I said yes... And when I came crying to him a few weeks later that I couldn't do it anymore, that there was too much sin and I would rather be starving than keep sinning so much, and I also hated it more than anything, he locked me in my room and told me I could starve in there if I preferred... S-so I gave up, and I wore the dresses he bought me, ate the sweets, pretended during the day that life was beautiful, then at night I sinned, and I cried, and it went on and on and on until I thought I was going mad... The only reason I didn't try to end it was because I still feared my faith, and I had a friend there. A girl my age. I loved her like she was my sister, and she me, and... That was how I survived, her and the gifts during the day.

"After about eight months of it, I was with child, and I feared he would try and kill it if he found out. The other women had said they had... done horrible things to themselves to get rid of... I had to be careful not to show my nausea around him... B-but he trusted me more by then, and I prayed to God for forgiveness, I told him I would never do such a thing again, and that I would have my child and love it and bring it up properly... And he gave me my miracle. He let me slip away...

"When I came back to the convent, in my red dress cut down to, oh, goodness, they looked at me with such pity! And they said they had forgiven me, because I was remorseful, but they hadn't. No one would, truly, and I feared God hadn't either... I lost the baby very quickly, and I told them that I didn't know what to do now. I told them I wished I had become a nun... I wished I had just become a nun... A-and now I couldn't... So I ran away a week after I lost the baby, and I had taken and hidden my jewelry from the apartment, for money. I sold these, and bought a proper dress and apron, and an advertisement for a nursemaid... Monsieur Erik answered... I thought I was being deceived again, at first, but I was still so desperate, and I knew God would forgive me if I devoted the rest of my life to babies and children... teaching them about him... loving them... So I came here, and you didn't care about the fact that I wasn't white, and I was so happy here, even though Monsieur Erik frightened me a little, forgive me, madame, but I can't ever leave here! Please, no one has treated me as you have, and if you let me go... h-he'll take me away again. He knows I live around here, he could have followed me... F-followed me..."

"Why on earth would I let you go?" I asked, horrified. "Come here, please, I have something to tell you as well... I lied as well..."

And I confessed my story. We cried for some time, comforted each other, embraced, and when Erik returned we separated instantly, dabbing at our eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked, coming over to me with the chocolates.

I smiled through my tears, "We're happy about the babies. People cry when they're happy, you know."

He looked down at the long white box in his hands, and I reached for it.

"Thank you, I've been looking forward to these," I told him.

Anne-Marie and I, now that we both knew we had been held captive (I to a lesser extent than she, but still), became close and confidential. She called me madame less, perhaps unknowingly, and I frequently called her "dear." I had a friend, a confidante.

There were far too many broken souls in that house.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **I thought it would be good for Christine to know someone else who went through a situation that bore some semblance to hers (captivity-wise) so that she wouldn't feel alone. Poor Anne-Marie, though, no wonder she was so happy for work.**

 **Postpartum depression- It would be incredibly unlikely for Christine not to get this. It happens within the first year of birth and can last a year. She has been abused, tormented, considered killing herself twice, experienced loss, is having trouble with her faith, combined wit having a tedious birth, Félicité's birth defect and Erik's Erikness, she, of course, has this. Let's hope she recovers soon. And let's hope Erik can survive...**


	64. Chapter 64: Madness

"Erik?" I asked the next Sunday as he came in with my breakfast.

"What is it, my dear?" He said.

"Could we have a walk, just us? Could Anne-Marie stay here?"

"You want to leave the babies alone?"

"No, we'll take them with us... I want to be alone with you. I thought you would prefer just us, just us and the babies.

"Oh, of course," he said happily. "You... want to spend time with me?"

"Of course I do. You're my husband."

He kissed the hem of my dress, "I love you, my dear Christine, how kind you are..."

I smiled, "I love you, too, my dear Erik."

He sobbed happily.

I only wanted to keep Anne-Marie at home. She had expressed doubt to me as to whether her father would actually abduct her, but I knew she was terrified that he would find out where she lived. I couldn't imagine...

But she was safe now, and Erik was content. I was quite pleased with how good I was at managing everyone now.

I managed myself poorly, however. Somehow, I had become ridden with anxiety over the babies, leaving Anne-Marie to tend to them most of the time, save when I fed them. I kept having awful nightmares about losing them, or that I had to give birth again and they were both twisted up and mangled or dead... I wondered if I was going mad.

I cried often, and spent most nights with Erik beside me for comfort. The babies awoke me up every night, causing me to be constantly exhausted and sleep most of the day. I stumbled around, barely awake, and at night I frequently couldn't remember having fed the babies.

It was miserable, and I feared it would never end. But in the middle of April, it faded away, and I was smiling and happy all at once again, to Erik and my relief.

The babies were christened shortly after I had recovered. It was with much ado by Euphrasie, while Félicité stared up at the priest the entire time without a fuss. The lace dresses made them look like little angels, blessed angels, and after I had changed them when we returned home, as the dresses were uncomfortable, I placed them in a special drawer of their pastel dresser. Whenever I accidentally opened it, I smiled in memory.

Erik continued to mostly ignore the babies or watch Anne-Marie and me coo over them from a distance. He bought them toys and little dresses, but that was the extent of his fondness.

Then one Saturday morning in early May, Erik came in with my breakfast as usual (I had told him only on weekends he could bring me it in bed). He set it on my lap and turned to look down at the babies, both who were awake and staring up at the mobiles that reflected the sunlight.

I heard him gasp and stumble back.

"What's wrong?" I asked in concern. "Is it Félicité?! Oh, Erik, what's wrong-?"

"She smiled," Erik replied, awed. "F-Félicité smiled... a real smile..."

My pounding heart slowed, "Oh, she did? Let me see her, let me see."

I slid over to pick her up, but Erik had started to already, gingerly. He stared down at her, and, with the utmost caution, handed her to me.

I smiled at him, surprised and delighted by this, "Thank you."

"She's so small still," he said, his eyes soft behind his mask.

"So very small..." I beamed down at her, and she smiled back at me. I giggled happily, "Oh, isn't she adora-?"

He was gone, and the door was ajar.

But the next day he handed her to me again, and gradually this became a pattern for him. He never touched Euphrasie, but I didn't mind so much. Félicité was my primary concern. Of course, I made sure they were paid attention to equally, for fairness and the fear that Erik would be upset over it, but it was essential that Félicité and Erik be close, for both their sakes.

Euphrasie smiled a week later at me, while Anne-Marie and I were lying on our stomachs with them in the drawing room. The carpet was soft, but we put always blankets under them as well. They were so fragile still...

"When will they crawl?" Erik asked me as I fed Euphrasie on the sofa.

"I don't know," I replied. "Anne-Marie, when will they crawl?"

She looked up from Félicité, who had been smiling at her, "Around seven months... They'll be able to roll over at five months, I think."

"What about Félicité?" Erik said, turning to me.

"She'll probably pull herself with her arms," Anne-Marie answered. "That's how a girl like her did at the orphanage. She had such strong arms from it."

"Will she be jealous?" He asked me. "Of Euphrasie?"

"I don't know." I replied. "We'll handle that when we come to it. We shouldn't worry about it now."

They grew at a rapid pace, and before I could blink they were able to laugh and hold their heads upright, and once they started to make silly noises was when Erik began to hold Félicité on his own. These intervals of affection were barely a quarter of an hour long, and mostly consisted of him staring at her as she lied in his arms, but they comforted me a great deal. Maybe Erik would be a good father... And if not a good one, then at least not a bad one.

He sang lullabies to them with me often, and was frequently at the harp at night, making us all drift into sleep.

They continued to wake up in the middle of the night hungry, but because of how relaxed my life was, the lack of sleep didn't matter so much. I took naps and lay around most of the time, but somehow I wasn't exactly bored. They took up my time.

Mid-summer was when they became incredibly fussy. Anne-Marie said they were growing their teeth, and that they needed to chew on things.

Erik took this opportunity to buy them far more toys than they could ever need, and this mostly sated them. And at the end of July, Anne-Marie started to make soft food for them: peas and squash, things like that, besides just milk.

They were tempestuous little things, though. When I gave Euphrasie a drop of mushed peas on a spoon, it dribbled right out of her mouth and she stared at me in reproach.

"You can't drink milk forever," I told her, while Anne-Marie was having far more success with Félicité. "Is it that bad?"

Maybe if I showed her...?

I took a bite of it, and it only tasted like peas, but I turned around and found that Erik had been watching, and I laughed at the disgust and confusion in his eyes.

Euphrasie joined my laughter, perhaps thinking that would get rid of the peas. But I tried again, with the same result, until I turned away in defeat and watched Anne-Marie effortlessly place a drop of green mush into her mouth, which she swallowed.

Even though they only made silly noises now, they had distinct personalities. Euphrasie had a terrible temper, combined with a hideous wail of a cry, so that she could get whatever she desired. Normally that was milk, but sometimes it was me... probably because of the milk, though, not to credit myself too much.

Félicité, however, was quicker to do most things than Euphrasie, like hold her head up and make noises, but she was more shy. She never demanded anything, because she was the angel who could turn her gray eyes to anyone and make them melt. So her cry was sweet as a result.

The Persian came to visit almost every week. He held the babies mostly out of politeness, but he loved seeing them smile as much as we did. When he was with us in the evenings, I almost felt normal. Everything almost seemed like it was the way it should be.

Almost...

August arrived, and the babies began to enjoy their toys more. They both had a single stub of a tooth, which I had feared would be miserable for feeding, but it didn't do all that much.

We went out into the garden on a particularly lovely day, setting the babies out on a big blanket in the grass. Anne-Marie was inside washing baby clothes and diapers, and I was feeling bright and cheerful. So I put lilacs in my hair and smiled up at the sky like a little girl.

But there was something odd to my happiness. I couldn't place it. My dreams of Raoul had become few and far between, thankfully, but I feared the emptiness that still pined for him wouldn't go away. Perhaps that was the cause of my only near-happiness. Erik still knew nothing of this, and was quite content to have me behaving like a child.

"It's so lovely out here," I sighed, then I turned to him on the swing. "I need to talk to you."

"What about?"

"I haven't said anything about your mask. I haven't pressed you to take it off in months, but it needs to go off before Félicité and Euphrasie are old enough to understand."

"That I'm ugly?" He said bitterly. "That their father is Erik and that they should stay with their beautiful affectionate mother instead?"

"Erik, Félicité-"

"I love Félicité."

"I know you do-"

"She'll be afraid if she sees me. She won't..." he fidgeted, "r-recognize me."

"Maybe that's your own fault," I retorted.

He started to sob into my skirts, "It is, all Erik's fault, he should have taken it off before-"

"They're only six months old... try now."

"Please, she'll hate me," he pleaded. "She'll hate me!"

"She won't hate you, she won't understand-"

"I can't have her hate me, my Christine-"

I tore the dreadful thing off, but I had gone so long without seeing him that I clasped my hands to my mouth to suppress a cry.

He promptly fled, and I burst into tears, too weak to go after him. My heart felt sick.

Anne-Marie came out to see me, after a minute or two, wiping her hands on her apron and looking quite perturbed.

"Monsieur Erik is muttering things to himself up in his room," she told me. "If you want to know."

I sighed, "Yes, I need to see him... Watch the babies for me."

She sat down happily on the swing as I went inside. The staircase was longer than I had ever walked up it before, and it took me eternity before I could knock on Erik's door.

"Erik?" I whispered.

Silence.

I opened the door hesitantly, "Erik, dear? I'm so, so sorry, I-"

He was curled up in the corner like a child fearing a punishment. His eyes were wet and pitiful behind his mask as he looked up at me, and I sat down in front of him.

"I truly am sorry... I..." I pressed my lips together in pity. "I let you keep on the mask so long that what I had forgotten came back. But I still love you, I still do."

I extended my arms to him, and he buried himself in my bosom, weeping.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

"No, no, E-Erik is sorry..." he sobbed, "for frightening y-you..."

He cried harder into me, clutching me closer, making it difficult to breathe. But I was upset at myself, so I embraced the shortness of breath. I deserved it.

How could I have nearly screamed at him? How?

"I love you," I told him, pushing him gently from me and pushing down his mask to kiss his forehead. "Let me see you again, please. I just need some time."

He was still as I removed his mask. I gave him a long look to prove that I was fine, and then I shut my eyes and kissed him on his lips for as long as I could manage.

He broke away from me suddenly, a little dazed, and said quietly, "You still have the lilacs in your hair."

I smiled, "Aren't they pretty?"

He touched one with his fingertip, "Beautiful... How wonderful you are, my dear, to look upon Erik without fear and still love him... a-after... I love you more than anything."

I smiled as he kissed the hem of my dress reverently. It was his way of showing his devotion, and it no longer seemed strange at all.

"Could we go back out to the garden now?" I offered. "We can wait a little longer until you're ready to be unmasked with the babies."

"But... why must I be?" He pleaded.

"Because they don't understand right now," I told him, becoming exasperated again. "And when Félicité grows up and has a father ashamed of his face, how on earth is she going to not be ashamed of her legs? How, Erik?"

"Would she rather see Erik's hideous face?"

I stood up angrily, "In a month, promise me you'll show them. Promise!"

"Christine, my love, I can't-"

I left the room in a huff, and he replaced his mask before coming after me. He was by me on the landing of the stairs, and I had my arms crossed as I turned to him.

"Why won't you listen to me?" I demanded.

"Because its better if they don't see me-"

"How?! You've seen what happens just now when people aren't used to it! They can't be afraid of you if they see you everyday... Please, Erik, please, do it for Félicité. She needs to be confident in herself when she gets older-"

"She will be, with you as her mother, loving her regardless-"

"But you're her father!... I'm going out into the garden, and... I don't want to see you today again unless your mask is off!"

Feeling quite triumphant, I turned towards the stairs, but I didn't quite realize that Erik had fallen to his knees and clutched at my skirts. I took a large step, unexpected by him, and I felt my hand meet the air and my feet lose their grip.

In Erik's confusion, he released me, crying out as I tumbled down the stairs. I was stunned and mute as the hard wood floor approached.

I landed on my arm, which bent awkwardly as I cried out. Erik was at my side instantly, cradling me as I sobbed from pain and fright.

"My Christine!" He cried. "Are you alright? Is anything broken?! My love, please, my little Christine, forgive Erik! Forgive him! He should die for this-"

"My arm," I moaned.

He examined it, horrified, "It's broken. I'll get a doctor... Anne-Marie!" He cried as he set me carefully onto the sofa. "Anne-Marie! My wife fell down the stairs, look after her while I get a doctor! Get her medicine!"

Her eyes were wide as she listened in the doorway, and Erik slammed the front door behind him as he ran to get someone. She hastened to put the babies in their bassinets beside the sofa. Then she came over to me in concern.

"Are you alright, madame?" She asked.

"I'll be... fine," I replied, wincing at the searing pain in my arm.

"Did you trip?"

"Yes... I tripped."

"It's such a shame, with Monsieur Erik always concerned about you on the stairs... I'm sorry, madame. Should I give you some of the laudanum?"

"Yes, I think... so... my head doesn't... feel well... c-could you bring me a... towel with cool water... as well?"

"Yes, I'll be quick."

She hurried off, and returned with some laudanum for me, though Erik had only gotten it for the babies while their teeth came in. He opposed the medicine for some reason, but I didn't know why. This time, of course, was an exception.

She put the cool towel over my head, and I thanked her. She picked up Euphrasie and rocked her, as she had started to fuss, and I began to weakly cry. How would I hold the babies with a broken arm?

"Madame, can I help more?" Anne-Marie offered.

"I'll be fine," I replied, shutting my eyes.

The laudanum was magical, but perhaps she had given me too heavy a dose, because the world began to spin. I fell asleep from it, as it had taken the pain from my arm.

Erik woke me gently, his voice heavy with tears, "Christine, my dear? The doctor is going to give you something for the pain, then fix your arm."

I nodded, dazed. The doctor was a surprisingly young man, but he seemed confident, and the setting was quick and mostly painless. Then, once this was secure, he examined my head, which was swelling up in the back. He advised bedrest and laudanum, then left.

Erik cried over me for a time, distraught that he had been the cause of my pain. But I was so thoroughly drugged that I didn't truly hear a word he said.

Poor Erik...


	65. Chapter 65: Ignorance and Bliss

**Sorry, no Raoul yet. I have the next chapters mapped out, between 70-72 chapters total for this fic.**

 **The last part of this is... sad to say the least. And I'm saying now that I think this fic has a 'happy ending...' but it isn't 'happy,' if that makes sense. I've already got the final chapter mapped out and, well... We'll see.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We took a boat across the North Sea. I had tried to come to peace with my decision to leave the babies, knowing it was best. I would return to them a far better mother, and we had left them in capable hands.

Erik took me to a small village in southern Sweden, near Gothenburg, and he rented a quaint little house for us. He bought me a beautiful white parasol, which I sat under all day as I read books and gazed upon my homeland, trying to piece my mind back together.

There was nowhere more beautiful than Sweden. The sky was clear as glass, and in the summer, the world was bright green with life. Flowers coated the hills in decadent displays of color. Everything was rich and vibrant, so wonderfully alive, each breath reviving and revitalizing.

Had I not missed the babies, I would never have wanted to leave.

"I'm a terrible mother to leave them at home," I whispered as I clutched my book to my chest. "Such a terrible mother..."

We were out in the grass, with Erik sitting beside me, and he rose suddenly.

"You don't know what that even means," he told me. "Have you hit your children?"

"N-no."

"Yelled at them?"

"No, but Erik-"

"Told them you despised them with all your being?"

"They're babies, Erik..." I said, but I understood him. "But of course I wouldn't."

"You love them?" He questioned, further stating his point.

"Yes, of course."

"And isn't this," he gestured about us, "going to help you love them better?"

My lower lip quivered, "Yes... Y-yes, it will..."

He sat back down, and I rested my head in his lap so he could pet my hair as I stared into the distance, melancholic.

He slept by my side every night I could stand his incessant kicking, but his presence helped my nightmares fade away. And before we fell asleep, I reminisced to him about my childhood as he listened, rapt with attention. In the morning, he brought me breakfast in bed, slowly but surely coaxing me out of the dense fog my mind had been clouded with. He was also quite content to be alone with me, free to keep his mask off inside, and full of the knowledge that his care was, for once, helping me.

As I recovered, I taught him Swedish as we sat out on the green grass to watch the sunsets, and he learned quickly, becoming practically conversational within a week. I had someone to truly talk to now...

Erik was delighted to spend his days adoring me, as each time I woke up I was brighter. I could see it in my face when I looked in the mirror, every day a bit more pink, a few freckles. He told me my freckles were beautiful, and I certainly gained a lot of them regardless of my parasol. I let him kiss me often, not my lips, but that didn't seem to matter to him.

I wished I could stay with this Erik forever, and never go back home to the other... This one was not perfect, never perfect, but I could see myself living contentedly for the rest of my life in this state.

But I had children to return to, and each day brought me closer to them and, I feared, further from this Erik.

We had arrived in time for the midsummer festival, which was fast approaching, and I told Erik I wanted to teach him how to dance, to which he laughed.

"I cannot dance at a festival," he told me, still shaking with laughter.

"Why not?" I asked, my voice quiet and soft, as it frequented now. "I'll be dancing."

"I want to merely watch."

"But I'll be dancing with other men... Oh, please, Erik, dance with me... Please."

He was lost to me, and soon we were twirling around the living room of the little house until I began to sob and hold him close. But the moments of happiness revitalized me regardless of the tears following.

As I woke one morning, a day before the festival would begin, I went out to the window, pushing it open and sighing in the fresh air. Erik whimpered and turned over in bed.

"Papa," I whispered, staring at the sky, "Papa, I still miss you so... How lovely it is to be home..."

I folded my arms and rested my head on my hands, then my eye caught a young man with a fiddle on his shoulder among a group of children, their hair laced with flowers. I leaned out a little to listen, and found him to be quite talented. Not my father, nor Erik, but talented.

It was so lovely to hear the fiddle. He let it down to his side, bowing for the children, who begged for more. They wanted to dance.

"You have to wait for the festival," he replied.

Then he began to walk towards where Erik and I were staying, and he glanced up.

"You're very good," I told him, smiling.

"Thank you, miss," he replied. "I haven't seen you here before. Coming to visit relatives, if you don't mind me asking?"

"On vacation to where I grew up..." I replied. "Well, not here exactly, though it wouldn't surprise me if my father and I traveled here at some point. Sweden in general."

"What's your name?"

"Christine Daaé."

His eyes widened, "Did you say, Christine Daaé? Surely not the daughter of Gustav Daaé?"

I nodded, filling with delight, "Yes."

Erik came up behind me, asking, "Who are you speaking to?"

"A fiddler who knew my father," I told him, then I called back out to the young man. "You'll be playing at the festival, then?"

"Of course." The man replied. "Your father was the reason I picked up the instrument. I saw him as a boy, he came here with you... You don't remember me, by any chance? Sven?"

"I'm sorry, no... But I'm excited to hear you play at the festival."

"I'm honored. I'll see you then, miss."

"Goodbye."

I turned to Erik, flushed with happiness. I took his hands in mine and spun him around.

"Oh, Erik, thank you for taking me here," I told him. "Thank you so much..."

He kissed the top of my head, "When the babies get older, we'll spend summers here, as it makes you so happy."

"Really? You'll bring us all here?"

"Of course... I didn't know how happy it would make you. It's only been a month and already you're so much better."

I smiled, "Thank you for all of this... I was so worried before... Oh, how wonderful it will be to have the girls here! I can teach them Swedish, and they can put flowers in their hair- we'll have to help Félicité, of course, but..."

I began to promptly cry, burying myself in Erik's nightshirt. He patted my head in his awkward fashion, "What's wrong?"

"I miss them so..." I whispered. "I miss them so much..."

"We'll go back soon after the festival is over, since you're so much better now."

I looked up at him, smiling through my tears, "Yes, after the festival... and I'll be a much better mother then..."

He kissed the top of my head again.

Erik did not dance at the festival, as he was too embarrassed, and of course I didn't press him. No need to upset him, the poor man. I, however, danced until flowers spun off my head, and Erik was more than content to watch.

The village now knew who I was, and I spent the other part of the night on Erik's arm, talking about my father and telling lies about life in Paris, accompanied by truths where they could be placed. Apparently, we had been in a terrible fire, and Erik's face had been burned by it when he saved me. Then something slipped out, that Erik could play the violin.

They demanded a performance, and I pleaded with him, so he found himself in front of a colorful crowd of people, a violin on his shoulder. I stood at his side, coaxing him to breathe.

He gave them the music of heaven until they were breathless in awe. Then of course they wanted more, and I sang along with him.

When the end of our stay arrived, I had a cluster of children at my skirts, pleading for me to stay. I told them that we would return in two summers, then Erik corrected me to one.

The day I entered my house again, and found Anne-Marie playing with Félicité on the sofa, with the wet nurse across from her with Euphrasie, I had never been happier. I held both babies in my arms, kissing them, promising never to leave again.

Never again.

Whatever peace I had found in Sweden found its way into the house. Erik was bonding wonderfully with Félicité, and after a mere month, it wasn't uncommon to see her in his lap on the sofa as he shook a rattle for her to grab, beaming like an idiot.

He sang both of them lullabies, but other than that, he mostly ignored Euphrasie, leaving her to me. It seemed we might have chosen which children would favor us later on.

But thank heaven it seemed one would favor him. He could be a real father.

As colorful leaves began to line the sidewalks, Félicité began to call me 'mama.' She was far quicker to learn than Euphrasie, who Anne-Marie said was 'normal.' They both ate real food at the same time, though, if mushed peas could be called such, so they had one draw between them. Other than that, Félicité was far ahead.

One morning- and what a beautiful morning it was- I came downstairs to find Erik at the piano with Félicité in his lap: a familiar sight. He turned to me, unmasked.

"Christine, my love," he said excitedly, "have you seen her play?"

"Erik, she's a baby," I replied, smiling.

"No, no, watch."

She extended her little hands to two keys, and he pressed them down. A double-stop.

"Erik, you're being silly," I replied playfully. "She's only a baby."

"Listen, my Christine, just listen."

She placed her hands upon the keys she wanted, and he pressed them down for her. I brought my hand to my mouth in confusion as she created an actual song, in C major, of course, but still. The notes blended together... _prettily_. There was no diversity of rhythm, nothing interesting, just notes, but even so, I was bewildered that no discordance hit my ears.

"How long have you been playing for her?" I asked.

He shrugged, "A month. She watches me, and she's learned the notes that correspond with each key."

"That's impossible. She's only eight months, Erik, eight months."

"Erik was similar," he said softly. "My mother said I was strange in all ways. I did things like this, impossible things..."

"Baba," she said, and we could both see she was trying to get his attention. "Baba."

"She calls me that," he whispered.

"But that's just baby tal- yes," I sighed, smiling. "Yes, she does."

"And she calls you 'mama' now. Euphrasie doesn't do that yet."

"So you think Félicité is a genius like you?"

"Perhaps..."

I kissed his forehead, "Be a good teacher, then."

He began to sob, "She has to be, she has to..."

"Why?" I asked, confused.

"Because her legs are Erik's fault, and if she's a genius like him, t-then he'll have given her something good... B-but at least she'll be beautiful like her mother if not..."

"Erik," I said softly, sitting down on the bench beside him, "her legs aren't your fault-"

"T-take her," he pleaded, practically shoving her towards me and then pulling on his mask.

"Baba," she whined, extending her hands to him as he left. "Baba."

He went out into the garden, forgetting his jacket, and I sighed as I rocked Félicité to quiet her.

Besides Erik being himself, the house was mostly peaceful. We filled our days with music, and at night, Erik was frequently curled up at my side, as it comforted me to not be alone, even with the babies in nearby cribs. I feared my nightmares would return.

"Mama!" Félicité cried one night. "Baba!"

Erik had her in his arms before I had slid off the bed, and he brought her over to me. To our surprise, she was not fussing, merely wanting our attention.

We set her down in the middle of the bed, on her back, and she beamed up at us in the dark. Then she extended her chubby hands out to the ceiling.

"Baba," she called.

He picked her up, and I realized that once Félicité could fully talk, she would have her father wrapped around her little finger.

What did that bode for Euphrasie?

"You were right, my dear," Erik told me as he set her back in her crib, once she had fallen back asleep.

"About what?" I asked.

"We are very similar..." he said softly, staring down at the little angel. Then he turned to me, "A doctor will need to see her eventually. Perhaps with what they have now, they could right her feet at the very least."

"We can't have a doctor come," I replied, horrified that he would even suggest such a thing.

"Why not?"

"What if he hurts her?"

"Then he had best beware the siren..." He sighed, glancing down at Félicité, "I love her so..."

"Do you love Euphrasie?"

"Of course. You made both of them, so I love both."

"You never hold Euphrasie."

He averted his eyes, "She doesn't want to be held by Erik..."

"I'm concerned about her being jealous of Félicité later on."

"Why?"

"Well, you spend all your time with Félicité. And she's so smart, what if she becomes the favorite, legs or no? Then what is left for Euphrasie save to hate and envy her?"

"But I can't hold the other one," Erik pleaded, beginning to cry as he buried his face in my bedsheets. "She's... She's perfect, and she shouldn't have anything to do with Erik."

"You're her father."

He stood up suddenly, "I'm going to compose."

"It's the middle of the night, and we still haven't talked about a doctor-"

He had already left. I sighed irritably, turning over in bed.

Don't cry, don't cry, there's no point...

The sound of the piano began to echo through the hallway, and I promptly buried my face in my pillow to muffle my sobs.

He was true to his word about the doctor, however, and after a few rather loud arguments, I finally consented. Our ignoring of her being anything but perfect had to end. What if she had something terrible? What if... oh, what if we had endangered her by avoiding a doctor?!

The man who came was rather young for a doctor, seeming only in his thirties, with chestnut-colored hair and hard features, but he seemed amiable enough in greeting us. Anne-Marie was upstairs with Euphrasie.

"How old is she?" The doctor asked as he set Félicité onto a blanket to examine her.

"Eight months," I replied.

He looked up at us in reproach, "Why have you not called someone sooner?"

"Complications," Erik replied.

The doctor shook his head slightly as he began to examine her. He tested her reaction to touch, lifted her legs, then attempted to gently bend them. She cried out for 'baba,' who scooped her up immediately.

"Is she sensitive there?" The doctor asked.

"Well, we never touch her legs," I replied. "At least, we don't bend them."

"Ah, that makes sense, then." He stood up. "She doesn't appear to have feeling in her lower legs, but above her knee she did react, so she could be able to crawl properly in a few months. The spot on her back would hint at spina bifida, but it's rather minor in comparison to the severity of her leg deformity. It appears, though, that this will likely grow into a bulblike shape from fluid. If this occurs, there's a new treatment to keep it from getting infected. It's been proven surprisingly successful for adults with this, to prevent infection, of course. But she's too young now, and as there doesn't seem to be fluid buildup, she should be fine for the time being. The treatment is just a shot into her back, quite minor in comparison to before."

"But I'm more concerned with her club feet. If these are corrected, even slightly, she may stand a chance at at least being able to stand up while supporting herself on a table or something similar. Her legs are warped in a way I, honestly, haven't seen before. Normally they curve inwards, crossing one's legs together. But hers are mostly 'straight,' save their odd bends. Her knees seem that they will only bend ninety degrees."

"Yes, by themselves, though, or will she be able to bend them?" I asked.

"Has she before?"

"N-not that I can recall, although she has raised her legs from the hip."

"Then probably not."

"But can you correct them?" I asked, trying not to be too hopeful.

"Perhaps somewhat with braces. They would've been more effective when she was younger, and their corrections depend on the development of muscles. That is the hardest part of this deformity, developing muscles... There's a specific type of brace for children to wear while they sleep, but for babies, all the time is best... Although, there's a type of surgery that cuts the tendon here-"

"The Achilles," Erik said, obviously trying to show he knew the human anatomy and could be spoken to at a higher level than I.

"Yes, and although in past years it almost always resulted in infection, it's somewhat effective now. But I would only recommend that if the other methods prove ineffective."

"Will the braces hurt her?" I asked, concerned.

"Children with feeling in their legs often are uncomfortable at first, but I doubt she would mind. She seems quite tolerant, and with her feet paralyzed, it shouldn't matter to her... I should remind you, I'm not specifically a doctor for spina bifida, only for babies born with deformities, so I would recommend getting advice from one of them after me. But as soon as you can get her in braces, do so. She'll be in a wheelchair all her life, but perhaps she could be able to stand with support from a form of brace. I would've said this with more surety had she been in them sooner... There are new braces for children who survive polio that could be useful to her for standing, but those would only work if her legs are somewhat straight, which is variable due to her paralysis... Do you have any questions?"

"You said earlier that she was at higher risk for infection?" I asked.

"It's common with spina bifida. Has she had any illnesses since her birth?"

"Nothing that I can recall save a minor cold. Erik, has she-?"

"No," he replied promptly.

The doctor nodded, "Well, that's rather odd for any baby... Anything else?"

"Are there any... intellectual disabilities?" I asked, glancing at Erik, who was cradling Félicité.

"Slow development," he replied. "But you said eight months?"

"Yes."

"Does she refer to you as her mother and father? 'Baba' and 'mama,' separately?"

"Yes."

"Then perhaps you have nothing to worry about, but we'll see..." He looked at Erik. "Monsieur, I respect your privacy, but I must now ask why you are masked."

"A fire," I replied swiftly.

"My apologies, then, I was only wondering if- Well, get her in braces by eight months ago, and speak to an expert on this specific deformity. I assume he would be very intrigued with her as well, due to her uniqueness... Good day, madame and monsieur, and I'm sorry that this befell you."

"Thank you," I told him, a little stiffly due to his last words.

He left.

"Oh, Erik, why didn't I have someone come sooner?" I asked. "I'm so stupid, so stupid and naive, he said we should've-"

I ceased in noticing him begin to shudder with sobs.

"Oh, Erik dear," I said softly, "it's not your fault-"

"Children are already so prone to disease," he told me through tears. "What if...? What if she...?"

"But she hasn't caught anything bad yet-"

" _Yet_..."

"Erik," I told him far more calmly than I felt, "we're going to get her some braces to correct her feet and legs. Then w-we'll..."

Why was it harder to restrain tears in the presence of another who cried?


	66. Chapter 66: The First Winter

**Apologies for the wait, writer's block, distractions, responsibilities, etc. Chapter 68, guys, that's the deadline for the long-awaited lilacs explanation.**

 **72-75 chapters could be in this fic, with the final chapter being an epilogue.**

 **Oh, and no sequel. But... A prequel! I dislike Kay's version of Erik's upbringing so I'm making my own that will coincide especially with this Erik. It'll only be up until he runs away from home, though. I might even include Christine in Sweden ;)**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I was tossing and turning all that night about Félicité. As I woke up for the second time, I heard the soft sound of the piano issuing from downstairs, and wrapped a shawl about my shoulders as I went to investigate.

Erik turned to me, masked, "Could you not sleep, my love?"

"I heard you playing," I replied. "What is that piece called?"

"It's for Félicité."

"As in, the title?"

"She'll name it when she can talk... W-would you listen?"

"Of course. I love your music... But I forget how truly exquisite it is because I never hear anything less."

"Would you like to see another opera?" He asked suddenly.

"What?... But the babies-"

"The nursemaid is competent enough to watch them for a night... Isn't she?"

"Well, yes, I... I would love to."

He fell at my feet, clinging to my nightgown in happiness, "We could do it for your birthday, if you want."

"And will you buy me a gown?" I smiled gently.

He nodded into my skirt, kissing the fabric as he started to cry, "Everyone will be envious of my Christine. Only us two, like before, my precious Christine, how I miss being with only you.. I-I need to remove my mask, or else I'll d-drown."

"I don't mind."

He set aside the white shell, sighing into my skirts, "How wonderful it is to be happy, and to have a happy wife, with two happy daughters who will be just like h-her..."

I kissed his forehead, "You need to play for me before I can go back to bed."

"Yes, yes, forgive Erik. He's so forgetful, but you always remind him, what a good wife you are, so kind and brave, to kiss him without his mask without asking or needing to..."

"And you're a good husband..."

Joy illuminates his ruined features, then it dissipated, leaving behind the shadow of a pensive mind. He suddenly leapt to the piano.

"Let me play now. You're so patient, my dear, but Erik is terrible to make you wait."

Without another word, he engrossed himself in his piece.

If Don Juan Triumphant had taken me to the depths of hell, then this took me to the highest heavens. The world was beautiful and bright, filled with warmth and a golden glow. The corners of my mouth rose in elation, and my heart begged for more of this magnificent euphoria. I felt I was a little girl again with my father in Sweden, watching a red sunset bleed across the snow-covered hills as we shivered with ignored cold.

Then, all too suddenly, the delightful rush ceased. Erik turned to me, aglow.

"What does my wife think?" He inquired.

"I've never heard happiness..." I replied, breathless, "in song..."

"It's quite easy," he replied delightedly, "when Erik had known only pain, and then he met you and knew happiness at last, to understand the emotion more thoroughly, because he could isolate it... And Félicité's songs are, of course, interlaced."

"It made me feel like a child... I could feel all of that... Erik, I don't believe you can make a piece greater."

"Should he die with this one instead?"

I bit my lip, confused by the thought of this, "Well... yes, but make a copy for me, so that I may have some lesser musician attempt it, and remember you."

He bowed his head, staring down at his lap, "How happy you shall be when Erik dies..."

"But I shall mourn-"

"Mourning is not sorrow," he retorted, "merely a rule of society. You needn't follow it when he dies, unless you want to very badly-"

"I've talked to you about saying 'I' and not 'Erik-'"

"Would you leave me alone to compose?" He asked timidly. "You should be asleep. Erik shouldn't keep you up, even with the music of heaven, because you need to be rested to love the babies..."

One began to wail moments after he said this, followed by the other, and I held my skirt as I went upstairs.

"Mama's coming," I called. "Shh, little ones."

Erik continued playing.

The next day, Félicité was given two plaster casts instead of braces. After this, she refused to be set down by Erik, and the first time he dared, she screamed. At night, when he had to put her to bed, she was wailing, and her hips were attempting to kick her legs around, but as they were heavy now, she could do no more than squirm.

"Could she sleep with you?" He offered desperately, picking her back up and rocking her.

I sighed, "She can't be allowed to."

"And why not?"

"She would want that every night. And besides, she only wants you at the moment."

I reached for her, and she turned away.

"We have to let her cry," I said.

Erik's eyes were wide with horror behind his mask, "Let her... cry? How could we let her cry, the little angel, you wouldn't let Euphrasie cry-"

"I would if she was as coddled as Félicité."

"But she needs to be coddled," he whimpered. "She needs to be... I was never loved at all by my mother because of how I looked... Because of her legs, she deserves to be coddled..." He thought for a moment. "Why don't we put her cradle in my room?"

"What? Erik, you don't even let-" but I stopped.

This was perfect! A miracle! If she would only sleep with him near her, then he would have to sleep each night!

"Alright," I agreed, beginning to drag the cradle.

"Have Anne-Marie do that," Erik said, still rocking Félicité.

"I don't want to disturb her; she's reading her Bible downstairs. It's hard for her, not going to church."

"Why doesn't she go?"

"Well, she thinks she's needed here in the morning is her excuse, but she's honestly just afraid of going anywhere."

"Why?"

"Her father, Erik," I replied, a little exasperated. "I told her what you said before, but she's still afraid."

"She shouldn't be. He managed to find himself in the clutches of the siren months ago."

I paled, "You killed him?"

"Killed him?" He said innocently. "I've never killed anyone, why do you accuse me of this again? He meddled with the siren, and she defended herself."

At this point, I was rather good at ignoring the fact he had murdered people, and was perhaps still doing so. How strange my life was...

I placed the cradle beside Erik's bed, and we set her down in it. She fussed, gathering her energy to scream, until he leaned over her with a little stuffed rabbit. It had a bell inside it, and the tinkling made her smile.

"You're such a good father," I whispered.

"No," he replied, melancholy. "I made her this way..."

"Erik, please, we don't know that, and if it's anyone's 'fault' it's mine-"

"That's why I'm holding her and playing with her, because she deserves endless attention. Maybe she'll forgive me when she's older... forgive miserable Erik who ruined her legs..."

I sighed, "Just love her. It makes me happy to see you loving her... Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight," he whispered, his eyes glossy in the moonlight.

I shut the door behind myself.

The next day, I lied to Anne-Marie that Erik had gotten word her father had fallen ill and died. She gave no reaction to this, and I caught her praying in the nursery later. I couldn't fathom the turmoil in her mind. She should be happy he was dead, as cruel and terrible as he was to her, but she had truly believed him to be her father. I couldn't fathom it...

Félicité was greatly distressed that morning upon finding herself unable to roll over smoothly or attempt to crawl. Euphrasie, however, was enjoying her newfound freedom. She began to dart around the drawing room, fast as she could without tumbling onto her face, giggling and calling out 'Baba!' 'Mama!' although she didn't know which was which yet.

The Persian was still visiting weekly, sometimes more often than that, as Euphrasie began to adore him and cry when he left. I had thought Erik would be possessive with the babies, but he seemed perfectly content with it. And the Persian was surprisingly good with them.

It was nice not to only be with Erik as I had been before, and he seemed to be almost sane now. He still sobbed at instances of happiness, and rambled under his breath when I knew he hadn't slept, but I was used to those now. I hardly noticed.

My favorite afternoon activity became to watch him play piano with Félicité in his lap, who giggled and placed her hands on his while his fingers danced. Then she would play her songs with him, her painstaking double-stops.

When November came, my birthday followed. Erik presented me with what came as no surprise: a gown in rich lilac, with beads at the collar, and delicate white shoes to match, as well as a new paper fan of Oriental design. There were numerous other gifts, but I was only concerned with where to store those.

"It's lovely," I whispered, beaming over at him.

He bent to kiss my hands, and Euphrasie shuffled over to my skirts, pulling on the lilac fabric of the new gown with her white fist.

"Euphrasie," I scolded playfully. "You would tear my new gift? Isn't it lovely?"

"Mama," she said, reaching up for me.

Félicité sat in the center of the carpet, unable to move herself. Her misty eyes were wide open, but no indignant cry issued from her pink lips. She was too refined for that of late.

I picked up Euphrasie when she whined at the delay, and kissed her cheek.

"Are you going to miss me tonight?" I inquired. "Or will you be good and go right to sleep for Anne-Marie?"

"Mama," she replied, giggling. "Mama."

I kissed her again then turned to Erik, "Do you want to hold her now? As another birthday gift for me?"

His eyes were wide with fear behind his mask, but as I began to pass her to him, he found himself unable to refuse my gentle smile. He held her for a fraction of a minute before I allowed him to return her to my arms, as he was shrinking away from her like she was venomous.

That night, Erik made me a traditional Swedish meal, and everyone else, of course, had trout as opposed to herring, of which I adored and Erik pretended to, though he only ever ate a few bites. But I offered him helpings of vegetables and baguette so he wouldn't be hungry during the opera.

I helped Anne-Marie put the babies to bed, taking care to wrap them up warmly against the increasing winter chill. Then Erik and I departed, my arm in his.

"Which opera is this again?" I asked as the brougham stopped in front of the opera house.

Erik assisted me out, "Faust."

"Oh! Faust..." I said, distant.

"Are you upset-?"

"No, no, only reminiscing... Oh, the opera house becomes more beautiful each time I step inside!"

He escorted me to a quiet hallway, then we went to our seats in the same box as before. I fanned myself like a proper lady, and was suddenly wishing I had glasses to remedy my slight nearsightedness. The stage was not close enough so I could see the expressions of the actors, no matter how painted their faces were.

The opera began with a roar of polite applause. Halfway through the performance- the Siebel of which was exceptional- I found myself becoming faint. The deep voice of Méphistophélès rang in my ears, bringing back memories of terror and a pair of ice-cold scissors.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Erik asked. "You look pale."

I fanned myself harder, "No, no, I'm not, I am, I... I need to step out."

"Do you want me to come-?"

"No, I'll be fine in a moment, but thank you."

To my surprise, he remained as I had asked. I slipped into the hallway, fanning myself desperately, and it so happened that a man in naval uniform came walking past... with a familiar gold mustache...

He stopped after passing me, and I heard him come slowly back. My heart was pounding enough to tear me to pieces, but I turned to him. He was more thin and pale than I remembered...

"Christine?" He said cautiously.

"Hello," I replied.

'Hello?' I haven't seen him in nearly two years and I say ' _hello_?'

"I... I heard such strange stories," he told me, glancing down at my gloved hand. "You're married now."

I hid my ring with my other hand, "I am..."

"What happened? They said you were abducted from the stage two years ago in some form of dramatic exit, then you returned out of the blue one day to see an opera."

"It's hard to explain... I... fell in love," I lied.

"Oh... I'm happy for you, then."

"H-how was your expedition?" I offered, nervously fidgeting with my fan.

"An absolute failure. But I saw a few polar bears, so not a complete loss."

I laughed airily, "Well... I'm glad..."

"W-would your husband and you want to come over for dinner-?"

"Raoul-"

"-I'm your childhood friend, after all. It wouldn't be strange-"

"Raoul," I sighed, "my husband prefers for me to be at home with our children."

He paled, "Children?"

"Two daughters. Twins."

He hesitated, "Congratulations."

"Thank you... And thank you for the offer, but I simply cannot."

"Would you at least ask your husband?... I want to talk to you some more. I left so soon, I... I should've stayed-"

"Raoul, it's fine-"

"-I should've-"

"Raoul!" I cried, then I clapped a hand over my mouth.

The box five door opened, and I trembled all over lest Erik would suspect something.

"Are you alright, my dear?" he asked.

Raoul stepped back upon seeing him.

"I'm fine," I replied. "I-I was surprised to see my old friend is all."

"Good evening, monsieur," Raoul said amiably, though a bit stiffly.

"Good evening," Erik replied, his hand at the small of my back, "monsieur."

I wanted to die.

"Are you better?" Erik asked as we sat back down in the box.

I fanned myself, distracted, "Yes... Much better."

"Did seeing your friend help?"

I nodded, "I want to watch the opera now, please. A-and I would like to leave quickly if possible."

"Of course, my love."

I placed my hand in his, appeasing him. As the performance ran on, my mind wandered.

"You were a far better Marguerite," Erik told me. "She sings without a soul."

"Poor Marguerite..." I whispered.

He patted my hand in an attempt to calm me, but I pulled mine back into my lap, fanning myself with the other. How was it so hot in November?

We left promptly afterward, before Raoul could find me. After kissing Erik goodnight, I slipped into my nightgown, and found myself staring up at my ceiling in confusion.

I had managed to occupy myself enough with the babies, and my recovery, that my dreams of Raoul had become memories. I accepted my marriage now, fully, because I had the babies. I had two daughters that would not have existed without my marriage to Erik.

But there could have been two with Raoul... What would it have been like...?

The next day, I lied to Erik that I had a cold, rather than simply tell him I had a headache from staying up all night thinking. But I actually had a fever, as he discovered upon placing his hand on my burning forehead. I had caught colds, of course, but they were always very minor. I had even tried to hide them from him.

Now, however, he knew. He told me to rest all day, and not trouble myself with the babies. He lined my dresser with flowers, made me hot soup, brought up the harp for me, and, of course, bought chocolates.

Félicité, however, kept whining for "Baba." We could both hear her, but to my surprise, Erik mostly ignored her, preferring to care for me. I was only in bed for two days, thankfully, but then a couple days later Erik was ill.

Félicité was distraught, but Erik wouldn't hold her for fear of giving her a cold, too, as he believed her 'metabolism' (the term he used and explained to me) to be weak.

So I was left to care with a wailing and indignant Félicité, a teething Euphrasie, and a man without a nose who had caught a cold. Without Anne-Marie I would have gone mad again. I felt like my madness from before was lying in wait for me to fall into sleeplessness and anxiety before coming upon me again, and I feared this above most all else.

Once Erik was healed, and Félicité forgave him for neglecting her, I began to seek out some freedom for myself. To my complete surprise, he was perfectly fine with me walking about alone for an hour everyday, since it made me happy. A year ago he would never have allowed that, and I had expected him to refuse this time as well. Due to Anne-Marie, though, and his devotion to Félicité and my health, I was permitted a few francs to buy myself flowers with or new toys for the girls (of which they needed none, spoiled as they were).

I was almost happy. I could feel myself reaching for that elusive emotion, and I was so close to it, but my fingers only grazed the surface. What was missing?

It began to frustrate me, but I bottled all these thoughts up inside me, and on the outside, was more cheerful than I had ever been.

As November cooled into December, the babies began to fuss more often. Anne-Marie offered that they could be teething again, but instead we realized they both had colds.

Erik was distraught at this, and one night I went into his room and found him at the base of Félicité's crib, curled up in a heap as if he had cried himself to sleep.

I gently prodded him, and whispered, "Dear?"

"What?" He replied wearily. "Do you need a tonic-?"

"No... Why are you sitting there?"

He was silent.

"Erik, dear, why are there?" I asked anew.

"Félicité is so fragile..." He whimpered. "What if she'a not strong enough for a cold?"

"There's no use worrying. She'll be fine."

"But-"

"I know you love Félicité, but she's fine. It's her first winter, her first cold, and once she feels better, she'll be stronger from it."

"Poor Félicité, with a cold and her casts-"

"Her casts will make her stand up with braces, Erik. They're going to give her some acceptance from society, which you know already is cruel to people who are different."

"We love her..." he whispered.

"Of course we do."

"Will she go to heaven if she dies, according to your religion?"

"Erik, what-? Well, yes, of course. Babies go to heaven when they die, and she's christened. But I don't see why-"

"If she dies before Erik, he'll die with her..."

"She won't die. Please stop talking about this, it's upsetting me."

He turned to me, his eyes behind his mask reflecting horror, "Oh, forgive me, my love, Erik forgets..."

I lied down on his bed and pulled up the blankets beside me, "Come sleep. You haven't had a full night of sleep in months."

He was hesitant to refuse, and crept up to my side after a moment of silence.

"May I kiss you goodnight?" He asked timidly.

I nodded, and after this, he fell asleep with an arm over my stomach.

Euphrasie stopped sniffling within three days, whereas Félicité took five. Erik thought this only proved his point, and he continued to coddle her incessantly, making sure she was always wrapped up warm. He frequently sat in front of the fireplace with her in his lap while she played with a rattle or her stuffed rabbit.

Unfortunately, she was enjoying herself so immensely with this activity one day, that the rattle flew into the fireplace and melted. I had never seen her throw such a tantrum. Erik promptly procured an identical toy within the hour, and she was appeased.

Euphrasie was too young to notice this, but to be honest, Anne-Marie coddled her as well, when she wasn't tending to housework. We became increasingly occupied with this one, as she put anything and everything in her mouth. She began to develop a taste for pens. Whenever Erik was careless and one fell from his desk, it would find its way into her mouth regardless of supervision.

Félicité was still unable to crawl due to her casts, which were to be replaced for four months. Her eyes were envious upon her sister as she sat in Erik's lap, and sometimes she cried simply to keep him wrapped around her finger.

She had certainly developed Erik's proficiency in manipulation...


	67. Chapter 67: Falling

**So sorry for the wait! I'm traveling soon and I've been busy preparing, among other things. These coming chapters are also IMPOSSIBLE, because I have goals I have to achieve to wrap it up, but fitting those goals in... Oh well, enjoy!**

 **Oh, and these next finishing chapters should be shorter, like most of the other chapters in this fic. Funny how the length just kept increasing as time went on ;)**

 **And about the prequel, I love it so much already and I think it's really smart, which... isn't a good thing to think as a writer, but I'll explain why later.**

 **REVIEWERS: love you guys so much! I feel like I'm losing people as this fic drags on (which is expected, of course), so thanks for being constant ;)**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Christmas neared, I spent most evenings shopping with Erik, to his delight. We decorated the house, taking care to put the holly and mistletoe too high for the girls to reach. They were in awe of the tree, which Euphrasie attempted to make a meal out of.

A few days before the holiday, as I sat on the sofa reading a book, Erik asked, "Do you want to invite anyone besides the Persian man?"

"Hm?" I replied, looking up at him. "Who else would I invite?"

"Your friend, perhaps."

I nearly dropped my book, "My friend? Raoul?"

"Yes... You seemed happy to see him before."

"Well, yes, we were close friends before, but he must be spending Christmas with his family."

"If you insist..."

He went away to continue composing Félicité's piece, and I was left utterly bewildered as to why he would consider inviting Raoul. He had been delighted to cause the poor man misery before!

When Christmas Eve arrived, the Persian came as he had the year prior. Euphrasie crawled to him and giggled as he set down the gifts in his arms and picked her up.

"Baba," she cooed.

"I thought she knew the difference now?" He said, unable to restrain a smile as she grabbed at his nose.

"She has to call you something," I beamed. "Thank you for coming again."

"It's my pleasure, madame..." He glanced around. "Where's Erik?"

"Preparing our Christmas Eve gifts. I even made him buy you one this year."

"You impress me every time I visit."

I smiled again, reaching for Euphrasie and placing her on my hip, "Come sit down, I have tea ready if you want some."

Félicité was asleep in her bassinet near the side of the sofa closest to the fireplace. After placing the gifts he had brought beneath the tree, the Persian sat down in the armchair he was accustomed to occupying. Euphrasie whimpered as I placed myself upon the sofa.

"Baba," she said, reaching for the Persian.

I handed her to him with her rattle, and she giggled as she shook it. Félicité remained asleep for a while, even once Erik had come in and rudely addressed the Persian in his customary way.

Then we heard her little coo for her 'Baba,' and he sat down with her in his armchair. She always poised herself on his knee as if it were a throne.

"The nursemaid is setting out dinner," he informed me as Félicité gnawed on the ear of her stuffed bunny.

"Oh, good," I replied, picking up some tea to occupy my hands. "Félicité took a rather long nap. Did she sleep poorly last night?"

Erik glanced down at his lap sheepishly, "No..."

"Erik?"

"She wanted to play piano," he admitted like a child.

"She wanted to play piano? Did she tell you?"

"She knows how to tell me. I'll show you," he picked her up and turned her to face him. "Piano? Show your mother. Piano."

Her misty eyes lit up, and she moved her hands in front of her up and down, as if on piano keys.

"How smart you are, Félicité," he crooned, and I could've sworn she smirked at everyone else in the room as he turned her back around.

"You let her stay up to play?" I asked, scolding.

"She wanted to, and she went to sleep after that. She helped me compose."

I sighed, "Won't that weaken her meta- meta-"

"Metabolism? No, she wakes up at night to be fed anyway."

"Alright, fine. But don't make her tired."

"I would never make her tired, the poor dear."

The Persian was accustomed to observing these conversations. Euphrasie was feeling his face with her hands, and he had a rather magnificent beard now for her to play with and tug at. How he could bear her strong little hands, I had no clue.

Dinner went surprisingly well. The girls ate peas, which both preferred to anything else save milk, and we had a typical Christmas Eve feast: oysters, pheasant, the finest cheeses, champagne and red wine, and everything else necessary.

After the girls had had their milk, they both fell asleep and were tucked warmly into bed before they could receive their gifts. Anne-Marie stayed upstairs with them, leaving us three to entertain ourselves.

"If we had more people we could play charades," I offered. "That's what most people do, isn't it? I've never played..."

Erik turned to me with a blank look in his eyes that clearly showed he had no idea what I was talking about.

"Could you play a song for us, dear?" I asked, beaming.

"Which piece?" He said.

"Would you play the one for Félicité-?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's incomplete," he told me, glancing over at the Persian.

He didn't want him to hear it. I could tell.

"Well, we can sing carols, can't we?" I offered.

The Persian laughed, "I can't sing carols with you two."

"I suppose not... No offense to you, monsieur-"

"None taken in the slightest."

"You're terrible," Erik told him, then he turned to me. "He sings like a dying cat, or any other animal begging for mercy, for that matter."

"I do," the Persian agreed good-naturedly.

"Well, we'll sing, won't we, dear?" I offered.

"Of course, my little Christine. Which piece?"

"Any," I smiled.

A few days later, I received a Christmas card from Raoul. It was generic, but the fact he had sent one was rather surprising to me. And I had not sent one to him.

"Erik?" I asked sweetly.

He glanced up at me from Félicité, who had fallen asleep on his lap, "What do you need, my dear? Quiet, she's asleep."

"My friend sent a Christmas card to us... Well, to me, because he doesn't know our last name."

"Daaé," he replied simply. "It's nice to have a last name, I forgot my old one... or perhaps I never learned it."

"I'm glad to keep mine... Thank you."

"Do you want to ask me something?"

"Yes, might I...? Send him a card back?"

"You may send him as many letters and cards as you like, but... I would like to be able to read them."

"Of course, thank you, Erik dear, oh, I love writing letters!"

Félicité stirred, but fell back asleep after a pink yawn.

I wrote a letter every week, and Raoul's reply came at the same rate. He told me all about his failure of an expedition, though it was worse than a failure. They lost half the crew to many terrible storms. The water was so cold that it practically killed a man upon impact, he told me. Whoever found himself alive after those was susceptible to frostbite, and he was one of the precious few who didn't lose any parts due to it.

He tried to gloss over this with me, but there was so little that went well that this feat was near impossible. He spent a good deal of time about the polar bears. They had seen two families of them, and a lone male that managed to wander aboard while they were stopped beside an iceberg. This they killed, and he actually got to keep the pelt.

In his letters, he often asked me to visit. Erik didn't read the letters I received, but one day he asked for one, and I saw no harm in it. His brow seemed to furrow behind his mask as he finished.

"Do you not want to call on him?" He inquired.

"I have the girls to look after."

"We can take them with us. He even requests to see your daughters... Unless you only want Euphrasie-?"

"How little do you think of me still? I'm not ashamed of Félicité in the slightest, especially when I hear her playing with you all night."

"Not all night..."

I sighed, "I don't want to visit Raoul's house, and I don't want him to visit ours."

"Are you ashamed of Erik?"

"Ashamed? Why would I be ashamed?"

"Surely you want to see your old friend, don't you? You simply don't want him to see me. You don't want him to know you have ugly Erik for a husband."

"That's not why. How could you think that?... I don't want to see him. Writing letters is enough."

"If that's what you want..." he said softly, reaching for my hands to kiss.

I lived to receive Raoul's letters. We never ran out of things to write about, even though we knew each other so well.

The babies had turned one before I could blink, and Erik bought them a cake topped with strawberries. They were covered in cream, and Félicité even shoved a handful into my face, giggling. He bought them rather fine little dresses, both a pale blue with lace, perhaps for Sunday outings.

It was nice to be proud again, to be finally happy also.

When Félicité's casts came off, they seemed to have accomplished some amount of straightness, but she needed muscle to retain this. Erik assisted her with walking holding onto the sofa or small tables. She tried, as Euphrasie was beginning to run.

"Can't," Félicité whined without warning after two days of attempts. "Can't, baba, can't!"

"I'll give you a cupcake," he offered.

Her blue eyes lit, "Cuhcake?"

"Keep trying, Félicité, you must walk."

Some nights he crept into my room to cry and pity himself and her. My words were useless to stem his tears.

"She has to walk," he pleaded into my nightgown, which was already soaked. "She has to..."

"It's alright if she can't, she only needs to gain muscle so her legs won't curl up again. Her feet already provide her a far better foundation than before-"

"But if she doesn't walk, it's my fault..." he whimpered. "Poor little Félicité..."

"Plenty of people occupy wheelchairs. It's not that uncommon at all-"

"How will she be married?"

I faltered, "Well... Surely men are capable of overlooking-"

"But wives are supposed to be able, and she is not-"

"She is too able!" I retorted, tired of this. "What happened to the idea she might be a genius?"

"Men don't marry geniuses... What if she ends up like me?"

"Like you...? What do you mean, I love you."

He was silent as he kissed the fabric of my nightgown and caressed it between his fingers.

"Erik?" I whispered.

"Forgive me for keeping you up, go back to sleep," he told me, shutting the door behind himself as he left.

What was this?

"Christine, are you alright?" Anne-Marie asked the next morning.

I had been staring out the window, and replied, "Hm? Oh, yes... I'm fine..."

"Your husband bought you flowers," she said, offering an extravagant bouquet in a porcelain vase. "He actually bought them yesterday, and was saving them. He went out early this morning."

"Did he leave a note?"

"No."

I sighed, "It's just so unlike him..."

"He's been acting rather... odd. Ever since the opera in November-"

"That was five months ago, wasn't it?"

"I believe so... He reads your letters often."

"My letters? To the Vicomte?"

"Yes, I..." she picked a bit of dust off her apron. "I think he doubts your love for him... I can be open with you about this, can't I?"

"Of course, thank you... But I haven't written anything of affection to Raoul. We're only friends, Erik knows this."

"You should ask him about it."

"Yes, I think I will, and he'll cry into my skirts like always... Sorry, I didn't-"

Euphrasie interrupted me with a wail, and Anne-Marie went to tend to her. I sighed, glancing over at the desk filled with white notes with broken seals.

Erik, what are you up to now?

When he came home, we had just finished lunch and the girls were full and dewy-eyed for their naps. I came to the front door with my arms crossed in determination to have, if necessary, an argument with my strange husband to figure out what he was doing.

"Where were you?" I demanded.

"Your letter arrived-"

"Where. Were. You?"

He averted his eyes in shame, "Don't trouble yourself with where Erik goes and returns from."

"You're my husband."

"Do you ever forget that?" He asked strangely.

"How can I? I live in your house, wear the lovely dresses and jewelry you buy me, care for our daughters... What do you mean, forget?"

"Do you want to forget? After all, you didn't... want to marry me before-"

"Why do you do this to yourself? After two years, you doubt my love? Have I ever doubted yours-?"

"No... but, say I died tomorrow, what would you do?"

I blinked, "Died? I would be distraught if my companion of two years died, of course."

"Would you mourn?"

"Of course."

"How long until you remarried?"

"What? Well, I would mourn for at least a year, after all that's normal-"

"No, a month. No more, promise."

"How could I shed two years' worth of of tears in a month? You're scaring me, Erik-"

"But you will remarry after I die-?"

"Why would you be alright with that? Another man having me?"

"You need to be loved..." He whispered. "I don't do very well with that, do I?"

"You do your best, which of late has been very good... What's wrong? Why this talk of death?"

His eyes cleared, "No reason. You can go take your nap now-"

"You still haven't told me where you were, and I'm not tired."

"Husbands don't have to answer to their wives."

His gaze was that of an ashamed child after these words, and mine turned fiery.

"No," I told him in as icy a voice I could manage. "You don't have to."

I gathered my skirts in one hand and started up the stairs. Once at the top, Erik rushed up to me.

"Did I upset you?" He pleaded, unknowingly cornering me against the railing on the landing.

"Yes, you upset me. I only want to know where you've been and you won't say, and your excuse is because you're my husband."

He buried himself in my skirts, "Erik is such a terrible husband!"

"Shh, the babies, please, dear-"

"He forced you to think you love him-"

"What?"

"When you love another!"

I blanched, "Another?"

He covered my skirt in kisses and whimpered, "Another who is handsome and wealthy... who would love you better than Erik and whom you wish was your husband instead... you loved him before-"

"Raoul could never have been my husband," I snapped venomously, disorientated by my sudden fury. "You are! Now stand up and tell me where you have been because you love me and I asked!"

"Christine, my love, my dearest-"

I wrenched my skirts from his grasp and started downstairs, unaware he was attempting to pull me back in desperation. I tripped and flew down the stairs, petrified with terror. My head met the floor and the bright foyer became black.


	68. Chapter 68: Why Lilacs?

**I'm sorry for the wait, but here it is! Lilacs explanation at last! I hope it's good enough for expectations, and it really gives a taste of the prequel I'm writing, which will be posted upon the completion of this fic.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

There are many terrible sounds in this world, but they all paled in comparison to what I heard now. Even Erik's Don Juan was a mere gust of wind compared to this storm.

I woke to this noise, this... there was no word to describe it. Plaint? Wail? It was a scream from the heart of one's being, twisted into the letters of my name.

" _Christine!_ "

I hadn't known my own name could tear the heart out of me.

The room brightened again, and I whimpered, my vision blurred and my body heavy and throbbing. Arms attempted to raise me, but I cried out in pain, so I was set back down. My vision and hearing were as if through fog, but I could feel simply pain all over. It was not twin childbirth, but it was terrible. I ached, and my head pounded in my ears. A cup was brought to my lips, I assumed laudanum or some other drug, before the arms took me up into my bedroom while I moaned and winced.

There were suddenly two figures, a doctor and Erik, the former of which gave me chloroform while he tended to me. I resisted this at first, my memories of the time prior returning with vivid terror, but Erik pleaded with me and, as it all hurt so terribly, I permitted it.

Upon waking from this, my arms and hands were bandaged and raised on pillows beside me. I was propped slightly upright. My legs did not seem to have been injured, but the side of my hip throbbed. Everything had a dull feeling to it, an effect from the laudanum or whatever else I had been given, but even with the medicine everything ached. The curtains had been drawn, leaving me in pale darkness with only a skeletal figure kneeling at the edge of the bed at my side for companionship.

"Don't move, don't," Erik pleaded with me, rising. "You need a brace for your neck, please, don't move, do you need more medicine?"

"Y-" But I ceased, as the movement caused pain throughout my features.

He whimpered, "Stay still, let me get you some more..."

A drop at a time, he tipped a cup of bitter liquid to my lips. It numbed me further, and my vision fogged from it so I could only make out fuzzy shapes and figures.

The doctor returned and put my neck in a brace, then he left. I was in quite a bit of shock, as it was only then that I attempted to cry, only to find that it made my face burn and sting.

"No, no, my poor Christine," Erik pleaded, "don't cry, you'll be fine, of course you will, the doctor said only broken bones, not shattered, nothing irreparable, as you were smart and put out your wrists, so then your head didn't bear so much. If it had... i-if it had..."

He fell silent, his hands twitching together. Could I have died? Honestly? Was he being dramatic again or...? Surely I couldn't have died...

I wanted to console him, but I feared hurting myself by speaking, so I was forced to endure the torment of him weeping and cursing himself, without the ability to show any emotion. At some point, I fell asleep again, for when my eyes reopened, Erik sat again beside me in the wooden chair, his head buried in his bony, trembling hands as if asleep.

He fed me and kept me very well drugged for a few days, now quite silent and obedient, and remained at my side always. The world spun around me until at last the dosages lessened for me to be able to focus.

The room was now engulfed in flowers, not to my surprise. Erik's head shot upright in hearing me whimper, and upon seeing my eyes open, he fell to the side of the bed on his knees.

"My poor Christine," he pleaded wretchedly, "I didn't beg your forgiveness before because you were in pain, and unwell, but don't forgive me for this, no matter how much I beg, you cannot, I nearly k-... k-... Had you landed on your head the doctor said you... you would've... But you're alive, and you have Erik as your devoted slave to care for you until you're better!"

"No..." I managed out. "No, Erik-"

"Don't exert yourself, rest, my dear, you need rest to heal."

"My head hurts still."

He nodded feverishly, "You fell... o-on your hands and arms which... broke, a-and your poor neck bent, because your face hit the floor also, so that's why... you have the casts and brace..." He began to weakly cry, as if fatigued of it.

"I'll be-?"

"Fine, perfectly fine, I think, yes, of course, the doctor said your head was well, surprisingly so... everything will heal in a few months, with hope... And then..."

"What hap-?"

"Are you hungry at all?" He inquired with attention.

"Yes, but what happened?"

He whimpered, "You fell forward, you tumbled over yourself, onto your face and hands, I s-saw... I w-watched..."

He began to sob, then shook his head in disgust at himself.

"You're hungry, why am I talking?" He said. "And how dare I talk at all anymore when that helped cause this?"

He hurried off, and my eyes grew hot with tears. I couldn't hold the babies now, not with my arms in this state. I couldn't hold my daughters. The world was working against me being a good mother! I had lost precious days with them last summer due to my madness, and now I was unable to hold them!

Or write letters. Why was I thinking about that again? Of _him_? Of all times, why now?

"Here, my love," Erik told me as he came in with a bowl of soup. "I-I'll help you, unless you want Anne-Marie? I shouldn't help you anymore, if you don't want, it's my fault-"

"Shh," I whispered, unable to manage much else. "Shh-"

"No, no, I'll get her, you needn't see Erik, he'll go away for as long as you like-"

"No-"

But he had already left again, and soon Anne-Marie came in, accompanied by the girls, but devoid of Erik.

"Mama sick?" Félicité asked. "Not home?"

"She'll be fine," Anne-Marie replied, smiling. "I'm going to help mama."

Euphrasie began to whine and paw at my covers, "Up, up."

"No, no, go play with your sister," Anne-Marie told her.

She whimpered and began to cry, "Up!"

"I can't," I whispered.

"I know, Christine, you poor thing," Anne-Marie said softly. "I'll take them downstairs to your husband. He's still in disarray, but I'm sure he'll care for them due to your state."

She took them away, and returned without.

"Your poor face is still awfully bruised," she whispered as she sat at my side with the soup. "It should heal up rather soon, though... I-I know because... Sorry, I didn't mean to bring you more distress. The girls will be fine, I told them you were away. And with your husband and I taking care of them, you don't worry about them, they'll be fine... He said you'll heal fully in five months, but your bruises should heal enough for you to be walking in a week or perhaps two. It's fortunate your legs weren't broken, then you can at least walk... I'm doing a poor job of comforting, aren't I?"

"No... Do you... know what happened?"

She tipped a spoonful to my lips, "The girls had just settled down for their naps when I heard the noise. What an awful noise it was, a scream first, then the sound of you breaking. From your husband's terrified ramblings for the past few days, you seem to have flipped over once, then landed almost directly onto your face, with your wrists keeping your neck from snapping or your head breaking. Almost killed you had you landed without putting out your hands, he acted like."

"Surely not?"

She shrugged, stirring my soup, "I don't know. But had you fallen directly onto your head, I doubt you would be as well as you are now."

"I ache all over still."

"I assume so... I'm glad you're eating, though, your husband will be comforted, he's been an absolute mess. I kept the girls away from him in a bit of fear, he was rambling and muttering so, though I knew he would never harm them. And he was with you all the time, singing and weeping... It was pitiful to witness..." She glanced towards the door, setting aside my half-eaten soup. "I think I'm going to check on the girls for a moment, if that's-?"

"Yes."

She left me alone for a moment, then hurried back.

"What's wrong?" I pleaded.

"Your husband is gone."

" _What_?"

Would he kill himself?! All that talk of death, I wouldn't put anything past him now!

"It's fine," Anne-Marie said, "he probably needs-"

"No, no, please, go get Monsieur Nadir."

"Monsieur Nadir is coming. Your husband said he would come visit today, very soon-"

We heard a knock echo downstairs.

"There, see?" Anne-Marie said happily, going to answer it. "Everything's fine, Christine, you needn't worry. You've worried far too much already."

The Persian came up to see me once I had finished my lunch, and found me in disarray over Erik still, though Anne-Marie had tried desperately to soothe me.

"Are you alright, madame?" He asked kindly as he sat down beside me.

"Not at all, no, I don't know where Erik is!"

He blinked in confusion, but replied calmly, "Probably off buying flowers-"

"No, I think he's going to kill himself!"

"Kill himself?" He repeated in surprise. "With you in this state, why on earth would he do that?"

"Because he caused it, and he's been talking about his death all the time lately!"

"He caused this?"

"We were arguing, h-he was talking about going away, and I was angry with him, so I turned away on top of the stairs, and he kneeled down to beg for forgiveness, taking my skirts in his hands. I stepped forward and tripped and- oh, please help me! I don't know what I'll do if he dies!"

"Calm down, take some deep breaths, he's fine. He's out buying flowers, he's fine."

"No, he was talking so much about death-"

"Erik would never take his own life. I don't know why, but he cannot bring himself to do it."

I began to sob, "I feel like everything is against me... Always against me, like I'm fighting the wind..."

"Everything is going to be fine. I know Erik."

"No, no one does, not even him."

"You have to trust-"

"Don't talk to me about trust!" I snapped. "I don't understand the word anymore, don't you know that? I don't understand anything anymore! I forget I'm a mother, all the time, I forget, and I forget I was onstage before, I forget the house on the lake and the two birds and that ginger rabbit, the kitchen that I never saw, what the wedding was like and if there was one, how my dress was made, I don't remember! I do remember, but I don't... I'm so wretched, I can feel it inside me. I try to push it away, try to forget everything and pretend like this is normal. Like I'm a normal mother to two little girls, when I'm not. I've gone mad more times than I can count, it's a miracle I haven't killed someone by now. I don't understand anything anymore! I'm as worthless as a child in my comprehension. That's all I am, a child! Because children are happy even when they're sad and that's what I've become, isn't it? I don't know what it's like to be truly happy. The girls are lovely, the comfort of life is wonderful, but Erik is still himself! It's all so complicated and when I try to write it down or sound it out in my head, or even now, it's so confused I can't even manage it... So confused and complicated... I... I wish I had just stayed in that inn room all those years ago and not wandered out in search of you... A-and Mamma Valerius is gone now, but I forget her, because when I remember I can't help but cry... I'm mad, aren't I? Mad as Erik and the world... It's a miracle my children are so happy and taken care of... a miracle..."

I turned to the Persian and found his tan features nearly white in shock at my words. His hand placed itself upon my bed, as if that would soothe me.

"You need to rest some more," he told me softly. "Rest and think of nothing, make up something to think about."

A tear fell from my eye, "You're right, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said all that. I'm just so upset that it's all coming out of me... Could you give me some medicine?"

"Do you hurt?"

"Not my arms, or my neck."

"You want to use the medicine to forget?"

"Is that wrong?"

"Yes."

"Then my arms and neck hurt..."

When Erik returned, it had been over an hour. He came into my room stammering apologies as he placed new flowers around the place. The Persian was at my side, and had been giving me water every so often, though the dosages of medicine accompanying were small.

"Do you want me to leave again?" Erik asked.

"Leave?" I replied, confused. "No, please don't, don't ever leave without a warning again. You frightened me!"

"Forgive me, forgive your wretched Erik who terrifies you because of his neglect!"

The Persian hesitated in the doorway, as he had been turning to leave the room and assist with the girls. My eyes pleaded with him to leave me alone with Erik, and he understood, leaving the door a breath ajar behind him.

"You're not neglectful," I said softly. "You've been very attentive and devoted. I've forgiven you for the accident, you didn't intend-"

"No, no, no forgiveness, not yet, perhaps in a few years only, if then... if there are a few years..."

"Would you sing to me?" I asked hastily.

"Anything," he told me, exhaling in relief as he kneeled beside me.

Anything...

As the days went by, I contemplated "anything," and what that could mean. Anything could be flowers, jewelry, music... knowledge.

I glanced around at the lilacs. When Erik came in with my lunch, I asked the question I had always been denied the answer of.

"Why lilacs?"

His golden eyes met mine, then fell in shame to the bowl of soup in his skeletal hands, "Why must you ask this? It would hurt me to say... But I deserve to be hurt..."

"I don't mean to hurt you," I told him, wishing I could hold his hand to reassure him. "I only want to know. Please, you said you would give me anything, I wish to know."

He nodded, sinking into the chair beside me with a world-weariness that I expected from such a tormented man.

"My mother..." He started, his voice as worn as his exhausted stance. "My poor, unh-happy mother... She gave me them..." He inhaled shakily. "She gave me so many gifts so that I wouldn't trouble her, so I wouldn't be bored and cry... My father never wanted to see or hear me, and if he did hear me, as he never saw me, she would sometimes come up into the attic with a bruise. Strange she sought the attic for solace, trapped between two monsters, she actually chose me... My poor unhappy mother...

"But I wanted a friend, she knew this, and she wanted to please my father and keep me hidden and silent, so... She gave me lilacs in a pot, a lovely little porcelain pot. Perhaps somewhat because I couldn't go outside, but also for a friend, a _living_ friend... A-and I... I loved them. I cared for them, and they didn't die, and I gave them water and I sang to them... And I had them sing back to me... I was quite happy to have friends for once, and such beautiful friends...

"Then my mother... she planted them out in the front of the house... B-because they had grown too much... A-and they needed more sunlight, she said. I told her I wanted to make a glass house for them, so that they would never fade. She laughed, but she didn't hit me... She never hurt me without a cause, and I was wearing my m-mask, obediently... So I designed a glass house with the paper and pencils she gave to me. It was a lovely creation, one I replicated for an emperor or another later... And... I said to myself that, since I would never have anyone to love me as I was so ugly, I could love the flowers. They didn't care if I touched them. They didn't scream, or hurt me, they couldn't... They were simply beautiful...

"I begged my mother to bring them back inside, but she said no, because they belonged outside now. She told me she would bring me another pot come spring, but I told her it wouldn't be the same, to which she did slap my hand twice for good measure... So one early spring, w-when I was nine years old... I went outside to see my friends... A-and I touched their flowers that were mere buds, as it was spring... A-and... A-and I went back inside to sleep... Then when I woke the next day, there was a frost... I-it had died.

"I confessed to my mother, because she told me she hated lies and I hoped that she might... s-she might get another lilac bush sooner... But she hit me for leaving, because someone could've seen that she had a son, and she had told them I had been born dead... All that time, she had lied, and hidden me away... She wished I was dead. Perhaps she never said it, truly, but I knew she wished I had been...

"I ran away that night and only returned far later, as an adult, when I learned she and my father had died. That was when I collected the furniture from her bedroom, whatever I could bring with me... But I didn't want to see her again, so don't pity me for finding her dead. It was a blessing for both of us. And I took part of the lilac bush, the new one she had replaced the old with... But there was nowhere to grow them, as they required sunlight I could not provide. And then you came, and you were like the sun, and the lilacs were so beautiful around you... So beautiful... Like them, you were a friend, a living friend, but so much more. I loved you more profoundly than the flowers, of course, but I remembered them... And that is why... that is why I give you lilacs. Out of love... It's my happiest memory, the lilacs, until you came. They have this feeling of happiness with them, you know, their sweet scent and appearance. You carry the same feeling, but far more than them, as they are but a memory... a pretty memory..."

He fidgeted with his spindly fingers, refusing my eyes. Then he inhaled to continue:

"You know, I wanted to name one of the babies Lilac... but I didn't deserve to name either, as I caused you so much pain, the birth had so much pain... a-and now I've caused you pain again, how terrible I am to you!"

I began to cry at his words, "Erik, I'm so sorry for what happened, it wasn't your fault-"

"No no, don't cry, my poor Christine! I should be quieter, yes? I'm too loud?... Why don't I play for you, you love my music, and I'll play all day and night if you demand it."

"Some music..." I whispered.

Poor Erik... and his poor mother, why had he never mentioned she had been abused before? In all his ramblings, never had he truly explained the arrangement. Perhaps had she been allowed a loving and understanding husband, he might have been loved and understood as well.

The world is so cruel.


	69. Chapter 69: Another

**This chapter covers over a year, but it's pretty easy to follow (I think) since Christine mentions the girls' ages often.**

 **The next chapter will be miserable _._ I've had it planned for some time now and there's no way to change it now. There could be one more chapter after that, then an epilogue, and it's over.**

 **UPDATE: next chapter sometime tomorrow, it's a less miserable than I had originally decided to do, but I like this different ending SO much better. I'll explain in a note on the new chapter my original idea.**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Water ran over my shoulders. Erik pressed the sponge to my back, his poor hands trembling. His eyes were on the ground and mine ahead.

I had wanted a bath and only he could assist me, as Anne-Marie was busy with the children and all her chores. The Persian would arrive soon to give her some reprieve.

My arms were placed upon the sides of the basin, and they had been in slings for a few days now. Two weeks of being stuck in that bed, due to Erik's coddling, and I desperately needed this bath regardless of who assisted me.

"Your feet?" He asked, his voice a whisper.

I placed one upon the rim. His fingertip trailing behind the sponge tickled, but I did not laugh.

Another foot on the rim after I had replaced the other. Another tickling sensation.

To think that we had spent a summer in complete intimacy two years ago, and yet nothing had occurred since even close to it, made it almost seem like those months had never happened. Those miserable months where I had to pat Erik's head and reassure him to keep him atttempting, and sometimes I spent whole days having to convince him again, while I wondered if it was even worth it. How could it be? And now that I had the girls, now that the house had a feeling of stability, yes, it had been worth it, compared to before.

I wished I could forget that summer. But what of Erik? Did he want to forget?

"Done?" He breathed.

I nodded. He had not washed lower than my collarbone, but the soapy water had dripped to cover me thoroughly.

He helped me up, keeping his hands on my waist, and swiftly wrapped me in a fluffy white towel below my arms, as if that was expected to dry me off. I was dripping beads of water still.

He dried my hair and shoulders with another towel, but that was all, and carefully placed my arms in their twin slings. I sat down on the bed, my legs covered in rivulets.

"Do you feel better now?" Erik asked.

"Much better... thank you, dear... I would like to go downstairs today, not be cooped up in my room."

"O-of course," he replied shakily. "Yes, that's fine, I'll have Anne-Marie help you."

"I can walk down myself, it was an accident before-"

"You will walk with someone or you will remain where you are," he told me firmly.

"It was an accident."

He whimpered, crumpling to his knees, "For me, for your worthless husband, won't you please take this precaution? My precious little Christine, don't be brave, be cautious, please, for me..."

I sighed, "I'll be careful."

"The babies aren't allowed on the stairs now. I'm going to buy a gate so they cannot go up or down."

"A gate?"

"Two gates. They'll be safe."

"I- alright..." At this point I didn't care if he built a torture chamber in the basement. "Erik, would you do something for me?"

"Anything, my love, anything at all," he replied emphatically.

"Could we just... forget?"

"Forget?"

"Everything terrible, I want to forget it. I want to be a normal family."

He averted his eyes, "Yes, you do... but not with me-"

"Please don't start this again-"

"I heard you."

I blinked. No, no, what had he said?

"Heard me?" I whispered.

"You like to talk in your sleep, and I-I... forgive me, but I... sometimes I stayed at your side, when I couldn't sleep, and... you said words... names."

"Erik, whatever you heard, it's not-"

"You cannot be blamed for your dreams, but I know you don't love me fully. But that's alright, you love me more than I deserve regardless."

"I want you to forget that, all of it. I just want to be a normal family. Isn't that what you want?"

He averted his eyes, running his fingers together, "No... not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I want a _happy_ family."

"But we can be a happy family, if we just-"

"No. If you're not happy, I'm not, and if I'm not, your daughters aren't."

" _Our_ daughters."

"Yours. Yours, my dear."

"I can be happy with you, I know I can, I have to be-"

"Do you wish you could go back and have not married me?"

"No. We have the girls."

"Without them?"

"There's no point in this! Wishing things away won't change them! Now, I'm married to you, and neither you nor I can change that unless you beat me and commit adultery. But go ahead, if you want a divorce, give me reason and I'll oblige."

"You think I would-?"

"It was sarcasm... Erik, you've been doing quite well of late as my husband. You've become Félicité's best friend- don't deny it- and after an unfortunate accident, you're caring for me with such love and devotion... I'll be perfectly content to live with you as long as we are allowed."

"You're in earnest?"

"Entirely."

He began to cry, "How wonderful you are, my Christine! What happiness you have allowed your poor Erik in his miserable life! To have given you two daughters and now made you content to remain with him until he dies!"

"Don't speak of death-"

"Forgive me, you don't like it when I do, you said so..."

I smiled gently, "Kiss me, Erik."

"K-kiss you? But I don't deserve-"

"Oh, hush. I don't mind a bit and you most certainly deserve it for all the care you've given me."

He took it swiftly, then went to fetch Anne-Marie. Perhaps now he would believe me.

Now that the secret about the lilacs had dissipated, it aided in healing our fractured relationship in ways neither comprehended but both reacted to. Erik became reserved, dedicating himself even further to me, and only obeying Félicité's whines when I asked him to.

Days flew by before I could catch them. The girls grew, though Félicité still could not even hold herself up, despite best efforts. She would be in a wheelchair and that was the end of it. No more doctors, just acceptance. I had precious little hope to give out now, and it could not be wasted on a fourteen-month-old child who did not bear the stamina to try standing on two legs not made for it. She would be in a wheelchair.

I cried some over this, hiding my tears from Erik, who I assumed was crying in private as well. But we accepted it, and the days grew hotter. Summer was upon us before we could blink, and though I now wandered through the house, my arms in slings and my neck bearing nought but caution, there was no freedom for me now. There had never been any freedom before.

The cold grasp of depression found its way about me again, and all that could make me smile was watching Félicité "compose" her songs. Now she could press her own little fingers upon the keys, two at a time still, though. She was learning rapidly.

I wanted to be closer to them. Perhaps having weaned them had taken that feeling of intimate connection away. The weaning had been odd, as they had almost chosen it. Just after one year of age, suddenly there had been no appeal anymore. Anne-Marie had said I ought to be thankful, and that it was fortunate for me to have it so easy, but I had hidden away my feelings upon the matter, even from myself, until the memory had faded from view.

"Song?" Euphrasie asked, crawling up into bed with me and nuzzling into my side. "Mama, song?"

The piano music from downstairs was drifting through the room. The cold night air leaking from the open window dried the sweat that had been caked on me all day.

"Of course," I replied, wishing I could tuck her into my arms as I did so, but satisfied with this.

Au Clair de la Lune sent her to sleep immediately, and I sighed. Her head was covered in blonde curls now, little ones like gold thread. Félicité's was the same, if not somewhat shorter.

It was commonplace for Euphrasie to sleep in my room, and Félicité in Erik's. Anne-Marie was left alone in the nursery, though she always woke to tend to them in the middle of the night when I was too asleep to help. What a blessing she was...

Raoul's letters continued to torment me. Erik insisted on writing back to him, and I sighed and obliged to merely tell him I would be unable to reply to his letters for now due to circumstances I did not name. Raoul replied with a letter of understanding, questions of what circumstances, and that he would be returning to the navy in two weeks.

So the letters ceased, and I forgot about him by occupying myself entirely with the girls. I devoted all my time to them.

I began to spend evenings with the both of them curled up into my lap as I sang them to sleep. I had been trying to think of cute nicknames for them, as their names were too long to be without them. Perhaps Asie for Euphrasie? Felice for Félicité?

But I disliked both, so Erik and I frequently called them sweet little names. Though I used 'dearie' and 'darling,' Erik was far more creative. Félicité was a multitude of small animals from a little mouse to a rabbit, in addition to the common terms of endearment. As she fell asleep sometimes, I sometimes caught a whisper like "Lilac."

I began to realize, however, that Erik's love for Félicité was not exactly... love. He did not love the girls as he loved me. He completely forgot them to care for me, and I wondered whether if they were ever hurt, or worse, if he would be upset for their sake, or merely because I was.

Hopefully we would never find out.

Summer was fleeting, to my surprise, and autumn followed suit. My casts were removed, and I held the girls as often as I could, supporting one on each hip at times. They were both delighted at their healed mother.

Erik began to accept my forgiveness, and he filled our evenings with activities for his wife and him to do. He still had his moments, but I had become so used to them that talking him out of them was second-nature now. We were almost happy. Nearly there.

Then, quite suddenly, as I was watching the girls play in the grass at the park, I wondered what a son would be like, or another daughter. Why not?

Erik was 'why not.' But I confessed to him anyway.

"I want another child," I told him hastily.

His eyes widened in horror, and his voice came out a squeak, "What?"

"Well, what about a son? Or another daughter? Surely we could-"

"And what if you died?"

"The chances of that are quite unlikely. I've already given birth, and I'm still very young... I could die anywhere, Erik, anytime, any day. I've set my mind on this-"

"Please no," he begged. "Please, I can't bear it."

"Couldn't we just try... twice? Then no more, I promise."

He whimpered, "Will this make you happy?"

"I think one more, yes. And... I want to be there this time. I want to do it correctly."

"Twice," he whispered hoarsely. "Only twice."

"Twice."

Making a baby was different than I had remembered. It wasn't so terrible at all, really. Afterword was miserable, with Erik sobbing into me all his conflicted emotions, but other than that, I didn't mind it. I didn't have the same reservations as I had before. I didn't have the same fears.

I was so changed from then...

Two nights over the course of a week. I counted the days again, hopeful, though I knew the odds were far from favorable. But before, I had been with child after my first time. True, I could've not been. I was so stupid then, so miserable... Maman had just passed away and I was destitute...

Winter came, and, to my dismay, so did my monthlies.

"That?" Euphrasie asked, pointing to the stain.

"Nothing, my stupidity," I replied, covering it with trembling hands. "Go see Anne-Marie, I need to speak to baba."

She made a bubble noise with her little pink mouth before leaving, and from the fit of giggles following her entry into the hallway, Anne-Marie had found her. I smiled weakly.

Why did I even want another? Weren't two enough?

I knew one more wouldn't alleviate the sadness in my heart, but I thought it could help me forget. If I was busy enough with children, I could forget everything. And I wanted a little baby, to try again and get it right this time.

"Christine, my love," Erik said softly as I brought him into my room, "what's wrong?"

I began to sob, "It didn't work, I had them, I'm bleeding... And I c-can't make you do it again, I know you fear for me, I'm sorry I made you, it was wrong... I'm sorry..."

He was silent for a moment, then he whispered, "You should have another."

"W-what?"

"You're supposed to, and..." he fidgeted with his hands, "a-and if I give you a baby, am I entirely forgiven for before?"

"For... the stairs?"

"Am I?"

"You are _now_... but... In terms of fairness, I suppose that is... how you could view it."

He averted his eyes, "Forgive me, I'm going to... think about it some more first."

He left for quite a while that day, and we didn't know where to. He returned just before dinner, and, once we were alone, gave me his answer. I would have another baby, because he couldn't bear to keep me from anything I wanted.

But then, for weeks at a time, he begged me to change my mind. I was firmly set upon it, knowing his concerns weren't justified, and in turn, I begged him to listen to me and understand that this was what I wanted. At least... I thought so...

Because of these breaks, I only realized I was with child in October, mostly once nausea I had certainly not missed returned. I wasn't entirely sure if I was three months along or two, but I assumed the latter.

Erik was, of course, horrified. By some miracle I managed to calm him down, but perhaps I was not the primary reason for this. Félicité was becoming a prodigy. At only two-and-a-half years of age, she could put together chords and even read music. She even spoke in simple sentences, while her sister was mostly silent save when it was absolutely necessary.

Félicité was all that could comfort Erik besides me. Her playing made him forget the horrors of his past life, and remember where he was, how safe he was.

On my birthday, I informed the girls they would have a new sibling. They were both confused, and attempted to feel their new sibling inside my stomach, squinting in disbelief.

"How baby made?" Félicité asked.

I turned to Erik and nearly fell apart laughing. He was beet red beneath his mask.

"God makes them," I told her.

"Oh... how?" She pressed further.

"Buhd!" Euphrasie offered.

"Is that what Anne-Marie said?"

They both bobbed their blonde heads.

"Well, why did you ask me, then? She's better at explaining things than I am."

"Boy or guwl?" Félicité asked.

"I don't know. Which would you prefer?"

"Boy!"

Euphrasie scrunched up her nose, "Girl! Boy mean."

There was a little boy of three years that they had played with at the park, and he had pulled on Euphrasie's hair once. Erik had, logically, changed to a different park next time.

The child grew inside me as the girls grew beside me. Félicité, however, only grew in her upper body. Her legs remained as they had been the year prior, though they retained a semblance of straightness from the forgotten casts.

It was strange that they had never once asked about Félicité's condition. They simply accepted it as normal. The same was of Erik's face, which they had grown to know in the short instances Anne-Marie had been absent and I had been persuasive.

Winter crept up on us without warning. It was fierce and bitter, leaving the girls curled up in front of the fireplace in the morning, and Erik asking me to sit with him for warmth. I hadn't the heart to tell him he was colder than the surrounding air.

The girls were awe-struck with my growing stomach, flooding me with strange questions that I could often do no more than giggle at or make up answers to. They often pressed their ears me and acted as if they could hear the baby talking. I pretended I was fooled, until one day when Erik was mischevious with his voice and the girls shrieked in surprise.

"It say Fewicité!" Félicité gasped. "It say it wuhve Fewicité!"

Euphrasie pushed her away, "I hear-"

"Ask your sister nicely," I scolded.

"Pwease I hear, Fewicité?"

Félicité hmphed, but obliged.

"It say same!" She exclaimed, and Erik chortled behind me.

I smiled at him. One more child would be perfect.

And then, in mid-December, all the happiness and peace fell apart.


	70. Chapter 70: Dust and Ashes

**Updated- I kinda realized my whole "Christine is beyond exhausted and barely awake" didn't _entirely_ come through to a number of people, so I made it more obvious, because, no, she's not stupid. It was just the worst set of circumstances ever. You got tired/nauseated/hungry/ pregnant Christine who is too sweet to wake someone up to help her, and then a lot of other terrible additions at the same time. You are entitled to your own opinion, but don't berate the protagonist, please. Thanks!**

 **UPDATED again- this one's a spoiler to say, look at the reviews once you're done if you want to know what it was**

 **Oh, and would anyone be interested in cute one-shots of Erik and Félicité? I skipped so much time that I didn't get to spend enough on that. Just add that in a review if you are, or pm me, thanks!**

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night. This had been occurring for weeks now.

"Oh, what do you want now?" I said to the child inside me. "Thirsty again? You can't keep," I yawned, rubbing my eyes, "waking me up like this every night now... I can't get any sleep because of you... You make me sick and hungry and thirsty all at..." I yawned again, "once..."

But my throat was parched and my eyes were barely open. The baby made me have to drink twice as much water as usual, and on top of that, he made me barely able to hold said water. And, of course, my nausea acted up at random, adding to this. Erik was less than delighted at my state to say the least.

The baby kicked me for delaying.

"Alright," I yawned yet again. "Just be patient."

Another kick.

"Oh, calm down..."

I shuffled into the kitchen to get myself a drink. Once my thirst was sated, the baby wanted food as well.

"Will nothing appease you?" I moaned. "Oh, an omelet sounds nice, so long as we're," I yawned again, "quiet. Erik wouldn't be happy if he found us cooking food downstairs in the dead of night..."

It had barely begun to sizzle before I had a sudden wave of nausea and rushed to the bathroom. Oh, why couldn't babies be easier than this? I had forgotten how hard they were... how little sleep they permitted, even still in the womb...

When I reentered the kitchen, having spent a miserable amount of time away, the stovetop was aflame. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before slamming the door shut. I tore upstairs, my heart pounding. The smoke was already beginning to dissipate across the ceiling.

"Erik!" I screamed. "There's a fire! Anne-Marie! A fire!"

I pounded on Erik's door, then Anne-Marie's, and they opened swiftly. I attempted mine, but found it wouldn't budge. Of all the times for Euphrasie to do this!

"Mama!" Euphrasie giggled. "Play game?"

"Unlock the door!" I cried.

"Why?"

"There's a fire, Euphrasie! A fire!"

She began to whine, "I can'! Lock! Won' lock!"

"What do you mean?! You locked it-!"

"Go out with Anne-Marie!" Erik shouted at me.

I argued desperately, "But Euphrasie-"

"The baby, Christine!" He cried. "I'll get her, go!"

I rushed outside. I couldn't rescue her myself. I had another being inside of me to worry about.

Félicité was wailing and coughing in the already dense smoke, but we managed to find our way out onto the street. We began to pound on doors, as the fire could easily spread to other homes.

Erik hadn't come out of the house yet. I kept glancing at the door, praying that I would see him, but there was no sign of him. And the flames rose higher! There was so much smoke pouring out, oh, everything was moving so quickly!

A group of people was forming fast. They were mostly in nightclothes, coming out of bed to witness the commotion, gawk and stare, or escape the possibility of the fire spreading.

As I was quite obviously with child, many offered to take me into their homes for the time, but I refused, my eyes intent upon the house. Come on, Erik, please! How long does it take to find a key?

A man gave me his coat, though the fire was warm enough and I was too terrified to be cold. A woman put a blanket around Félicité and Anne-Marie.

Where were Euphrasie and Erik? Oh, where were they?!

A group of firemen arrived, and by some incredible miracle they were able to keep the fire mostly contained. But our house, however, was still engulfed. The water evaporated in the flames, hissing and crackling.

"My husband!" I kept pleading, hysterical. "My daughter and husband! They're inside!"

Félicité was screaming. No one dared go inside at that point no matter how much I pleaded, no matter how much she cried, "Baba! Baba!"

"There's someone in the window!" A man cried, pointing.

The glass had opened, and Erik held Euphrasie outside of it. Her face was powdered with soot and streaked with tears. She hung limply, as if unconscious or in shock.

A group of men ran to catch her, holding out their arms like a net.

She fell safely.

"Euphrasie!" I exclaimed, rushing over.

She coughed and gasped, the smoke having filled her lungs. But her heart beat, and she breathed, albeit weakly. Once she was on my hip she nuzzled into my side.

Félicité was screaming again, having seen her father. He was still in the window. Everyone was crying out for him to jump. There was nothing to do but jump.

He disappeared from view. Had he collapsed?

"Erik!" I screamed.

All eyes went to the front door. The entire main floor was charred and steaming, and the second floor was covered in clusters of flames that the firemen fought individually.

He hadn't come out. He couldn't get out. There wasn't a way.

"T-take the girls to Monsieur Nadir's home," I managed to Anne-Marie.

"I don't have any money for-"

"Ask someone! Who would deny two little girls and their nursemaid francs for a brougham?"

She nodded blankly and left.

Once the house had become a black skeleton, two firemen went inside to find Erik. I kneaded my fingers in my nightgown, trembling and begging for a miracle.

He couldn't be dead. He couldn't! It was impossible. Erik wouldn't die, he knew better, he was too smart to die...

When the men came out, they told me that they couldn't find a body, but that it was unlikely he had gotten out another way and not come back to me. He was presumed dead.

My heart thudded in my throat. I couldn't reply. Had Erik gotten out, he would've come immediately to me. He was... h-he was...

A doctor arrived and practically forced me to take medicine for myself, to calm me, as the stress could harm the baby. He also came with me to the Persian's house to examine the children.

The Persian had been waiting for me, sitting outside his apartment in anxiety.

"Madame!" He said, relieved to see me. "Your daughters are both asleep, Euphrasie is all cleaned up, they're both fine... Good evening, monsieur," he said to the doctor.

"I'm here to look at the child that remained inside the house," he replied.

"Of course, come inside."

I was almost in a dreamlike state. Any moment I would wake up and find myself in bed with Erik kicking me in his sleep. Any moment now...

The doctor examined Euphrasie, and said she needed fresh air and rest, but she would be fine. He then expressed his condolences, the Persian paid him, and he left.

"Where will we live?" I said.

I didn't know who I was speaking to exactly.

"Wherever you want, madame," the Persian told me. "Erik wanted it that way."

"How do you know what he... wanted?" I said, the past tense bitter on my tongue.

"He told me on multiple occasions, while insulting me, about how I was to be sure you were perfectly well upon his... his death..." His voice cracked. "Excuse me, madame."

He went into his bedroom, I assumed to cry. His voice had been quite weak, without his customary deep, reassuring tone.

"Anne-Marie?" I said.

She looked at me, her brown eyes pitiful, "I understand I should be let go-"

"No. No, not at all... We'll find an apartment for a while, a nice little a-apartment..."

I began to cry. Anne-Marie cried as well, after all, Erik had given her so much to care for the girls. He had given her a life back, perhaps unknowingly, but he had.

The fire was my fault, my fault... It was my fault we cried... All my fault... I was so tired, so stupid and tired, I couldn't think, I should've woken someone, I should've... I should've done so many things...

When the Persian came back into the living room, he offered for me to sleep in his bed, and for Anne-Marie to sleep in Darius's. But I curled up in front of the sofa by the girls and fell asleep there. I didn't deserve the comfort of a proper pillow and mattress.

The morning was quiet. It was so terribly quiet. The girls weren't able to understand what had happened, but Félicité kept asking where 'Baba' was. We were silent, until she began to whine, and Anne-Marie answered:

"Baba's in heaven."

If only...

"Where dat?" Félicité inquired.

"Up with the sun, and the stars, and the moon. He's on a cloud with lots of angels."

"Is he an angel?"

"Yes," I said hastily. "Yes, he's an angel now..."

"He come see us?"

"No," Anne-Marie said. "He has to stay in heaven. But you can talk to him when you pray."

"He talk back?"

"Not exactly, but you can feel his presence."

"But I wan' Baba talk!" She whined. "I wan' Baba here!"

I excused myself to cry for a little while. When I returned, Anne-Marie went out to buy changes of clothes for us, and toys for the girls. The Persian said something to me about going beneath the opera house. Something about a will. I didn't quite hear him however. I didn't quite hear anything.

The fire was my fault... Everything was gone...

I found myself agreeing to go with him once Anne-Marie had returned. We were so close to the opera house but it seemed hours and hours until we arrived there.

"It'll be alright, madame," the Persian said. "Everything will be just fine."

"I don't know how..." I whispered. "I don't know what to do now."

"Anything you want. That's what he wanted. Move to Sweden, devote your life to your children, anything that will make you happy."

Nothing would make me happy now. Nothing. Had he left me before, I could have started over, but now... Now I didn't know.

He took me down beneath the opera house, back into terrifying memories and musty air. My heart raced in remembering all the times it had before.

"Madame?" The Persian said, gesturing to the boat.

He helped me inside it. I shivered, wiping away a few tears.

It was quite simple, going across the lake without the siren. The Persian rowed slowly, quietly. Everything was so quiet and still.

The front door was unlocked, and we pushed it open. The Persian had the lantern from the boat.

"It's so dark," I whispered, turning around in the drawing room. "So small..."

Curious, I attempted to turn on the electric light. To my surprise, it flickered and illuminated the room.

"Everything's covered in dust," I said, wandering into my old room.

There were two vases of long-dead flowers. Everything was the way I had left it. The mahogany bedstead covered in dust, the antiques, the ugly wall hangings, all of it.

I could hear Erik's voice in my head. The horrible memories combining alongside the good. Of picnics and yellow canaries, music and crying, so much crying...

I looked through my closet and found old dresses of mine, a rainbow of them.

"Did I once fit in this?" I whispered.

My hips were far too wide now, even without the baby.

"You should have them tailored," the Persian offered.

"I don't know if that's possible..." I replied, putting it back. "But he would like me to wear the dresses he had bought... W-wait, there's something..." I trailed off as I went into the dining room.

The door to the kitchen was ajar. I went inside it, and found nothing more than a typical space paired with what appeared to be a chemistry lab. Maybe he hadn't wanted me to meddle in that... like a child... I had been such a child then. I felt so much older now, though I still was quite young. When I looked into the mirror, a woman ten years older than me stared back.

My vision blurred. The Persian went out into the hall as I struggled to regain my semblance of composure. He must have stumbled into something, because there was the sound of shattering glass. That was when we heard:

"Damn it, daroga, you won't respect my privacy even when I'm dead?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **PLEASE DON'T SPOIL THE ENDING IN THE REVIEWS! Thank you :)**

 **My original idea was to give the girls pneumonia, kill Félicité from it, and then have Erik contract it and die. I thought this was better, though originally the fire was spontaneous and not caused by poor exhausted and hungry Christine. That's a real unfortunate way to go, though, an omelette fire. Poor them...**


	71. Chapter 71: Resurrection

**I didn't thoroughly go over this before posting, but I hope I won't have to make changes like I did to the last chapter.**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Erik!" I cried. "You're alive?"

He was wearing his black mask and lying in his coffin, his eyes wide, "Daroga, you imbecile, why did you bring my poor wife here?"

"I didn't know you were alive!" He said, dumbfounded. "I can't believe you!"

"You honestly thought I would die in a _fire_?" He asked, as if insulted. "I went out through the back to fake my death."

"You did _what_?!" I demanded. "I was dying inside because of you! You would leave your children fatherless? Leave me a widow?! I was sobbing all morning-"

"She cried?" He said, sitting up from his coffin in surprise. "She cried, daroga, real tears from her very own eyes because I wasn't alive?"

"Of course she did, Erik," he replied. "She thought she'd killed you!"

"But she cried?"

"Yes," I said, "I wept, and Anne-Marie did, too. And Félicité is crying now because you're in heaven!"

He chuckled, but this quickly faded, "She's crying?"

"Why didn't you jump out that window? Why?!"

"I-I thought... I wanted you to... to be happy."

"And your death accomplishes that?"

"Of course. Don't you want to be rid of me still? To be free and happy?"

"I can't go back to how I was before, Erik. You act like I can return to the opera house!"

"But... you... you don't love me."

"I can't live without you _now_!" I was bursting at the seams with fury. "You're part of me, and yes... yes, I love you, Erik."

"What about the vi-?"

"That's a selfish thought I've had, selfish! I can't marry him. I'm married to you, and I've accepted it and, well... I'm happy. I-I think I'm happy now..."

"You keep saying that," he said softly. "But how can you be?"

"Because... because I must. This is all I have to be happy for. And though... though I'm not madly in love with you, I would much rather spend the rest of my life with you than see you dead!... a-and besides... What else could I do?"

"What if I pretended to be dead?" He offered. "Then would you-?"

"Erik, I'm not marrying the vicomte unless you're entirely dead, and even then, he wouldn't want me now."

"But what do you _want?"_

 _What_ do _you want, Christine?_

"I-I..." I started, bewildered by the question. "I only want to be happy. Isn't that what everyone wants?"

"But are you happy with being Erik's wife?"

I blinked twice, "At first, of course not... but now I... with the girls, and seeing you devoting yourself to Félicité, I... I think... I am."

"Do you know?"

"You lied to me, pretended to be an angel, kidnapped me, held me under the ground for a fortnight, made me return, forced me to wear your ring, kept me longer than I wanted, and forced me to marry you in two cruel ways! Then you didn't even care when my mother died! So no, I wanted to run away from you and thought marrying you would be death itself, but... but now... We've both changed quite a lot, considering. We can't compare horrible events of the past to now, when it's actually quite peaceful at home."

"But I-"

"No, you're not perfect, you know this. But... you're mine, Erik. And I have to accept that I'm yours and be happy with it, because we have two lovely daughters and... and we used to have a happy home."

"You want to live with me again?"

"It's that or you being dead... of course. There's no question."

"She doesn't want me dead, daroga!" Erik exclaimed joyously, standing beside his coffin and then coming down to kneel at my feet. "Oh, I could die of happiness now!"

"Please don't," I smiled, beginning to cry.

"My wife loves me, daroga, look! All this time I didn't believe her, but she does! What an angel you are, Christine, my love, an angel!"

He wept his happiness at my feet, removing his mask so as not to drown. At least now he believed me. It took him dying to believe me!

"Where will we live?" I asked once he was sniffling.

He sat up and replaced his mask, "Anywhere you choose. I'll give you anything you want at all, how happy I am!"

"C-could...? Could we move to... Sweden, Erik? Would that be alright?"

"But... the opera house. Won't you miss it?"

"I have you and Félicité for music. I'll be fine."

"Then... of course! Yes, then you'll be entirely happy?"

"Entirely."

No more of the vicomte... No more of Raoul and my memories of him. That wasn't my life. This was, and I would live it as best I could.

"I-is the baby alright?" Erik inquired.

I placed his hands against my stomach, "Yes. He's strong."

"He survived a fire."

I bit my lip, "Well, he... he sort of created the fire. Well, I did, I... Oh, I'm so stupid, Erik! I hadn't gotten any sleep and he keeps waking me up in the night. I was thirsty, so I went down for a drink, then I was hungry, so I stupidly decided to make an omelet, it seems so silly now, then my stomach suddenly refused this, and so I had to leave it alone, and when I came back, it- oh, you nearly died by me! Euphrasie and you! I can't even bear to think of it!"

"An omelet fire? Yes, I'm glad I'm not going to hell from an omelet fire."

"But how did you survive?"

He smirked behind his mask, "Magic."

"Erik, I'm serious. How?"

He shrugged, "I just went out the back. There was a path for a second, and I took it. I'm a genius, you know, and a magician, how could I die in a fire?"

"But Euphrasie? Why did that take so long?"

He sighed, "To prevent the smoke seeping into your room, I put cloths under the door once I couldn't find the key. Then I had to find something to break it down with, all while crawling, as the smoke is too dense and hot to breathe when standing upright. But it came down eventually, then I pulled her into my room, crawling with her under me. By then the smoke was thick enough we were coughing even while crawling. The window had expanded in the heat, and it took a while to open. I had a cloth over Euphrasie's mouth and the little one was pinned beneath me so she wouldn't get up. But the window rose, and I had originally planned to jump out with her, but people aren't cruel enough not to catch a falling child, so I let her go that way. And besides, she might have been hurt had I jumped. You would have been distraught from that... Then I thought of jumping, thought hard about it, but I thought you would be delighted if I didn't come out. I wasn't ready to die yet, so I came down here to wither away... I didn't think you would come for me."

"You poor dear," I crooned, holding him against myself. He gave a gasp of surprise. "I'm so sorry you thought that... But at least, after our entire home was destroyed and you nearly died, you know now that I love you."

He shut his eyes, which let out a few tears, "I thought it b-before, but never... knew it... And you're happy? We're all happy?"

I kissed his forehead, "Everyone's safe, we're moving to Sweden, you believe me... I couldn't be happier."

"Will you follow me to Sweden, daroga?" Erik chuckled. "Or will you finally leave me be?"

"No," he replied. "I trust your wife to keep you close."

He laughed wetly, "My heart's going to fail me from all of this, no more of the daroga!... But, my Christine, let's wait until after winter for Sweden, yes? It's so cold."

"After winter," I agreed. "The girls wouldn't be used to it, and I'll need to ask Anne-Marie if she wants to come with us, and, of course, I ought to have the baby before we go... Will we live in an apartment until then?"

"Yes, right by the opera house for a few months."

I bit my lip, "Erik, we can't go see operas if people think you're dead."

"I suppose not... But the opera ghost could."

"No more opera ghost, Erik." I embraced him again, "Oh, I'm just beyond relieved that you're not dead! I couldn't bear Félicité's tears over you-"

"Oh, let me see her! The little angel, she's just like you, you know, except without proper legs, and she's a genius like Erik..." The light in his eyes faded, "Her music burned. All of it, gone."

"She can make more. And don't you remember them?"

"By heart, yes, I'll write them for her... Oh, wait, there's something I need to do."

He grabbed his Don Juan and a candle, then put one over the other. He laughed like a madman as the flames dissolved it.

"No more of this nonsense," he said.

My mouth gaped, "Erik, that took you forever to write."

"Forever of misery! And now it's gone! I'm so happy, Christine, so incredibly happy! Happier than ever before!"

I beamed. Soon I would be, too.

We took him to the girls. Anne-Marie actually fainted, thinking she had seen a ghost.

"Baba!" Félicité giggled. "You come back f'om heaven!"

"No, actually-"

"Yes, Baba did!" I replied.

We found a nice little apartment to stay in. Erik and I had to share a bed, and the girls had to share a room, but Anne-Marie had her own, so it was comfortable. Erik replenished my wardrobe and frivolous accessories, and continued spoiling the girls with pretty dresses and toys.

I gave birth in April. It was barely comparable to the first time, as it was almost out by the time the midwife had come. Erik had fainted just outside, and by my understanding, Anne-Marie was looking after him.

"A healthy baby boy," the midwife told me as the infant wailed.

"A boy, Erik!" I exclaimed happily, hoping he had woken up from his faint.

I had only a moment of joy before I groaned again.

"Is the afterbirth coming that fast?" The midwife said, glancing at me. "Oh lord! Twins!"

"Again?" I moaned.

"It happens like that more often than you'd think, dearie, when you've had them before. It's coming fast, though, don't fret, very important to stay calm for twins. The head's already coming along."

"Two?" I whimpered, in tears from exhaustion.

"Oh, you've got more energy than that, the first was easy!... And here it comes!"

Another cry.

"Another healthy little boy," she told me.

I laughed in my relief. She placed both upon my chest. Thank God they were both perfectly healthy...

A moment of joy, and then I groaned yet again.

"That's... the afterbirth, yes?" I pleaded.

I cried out. No, that certainly wasn't the afterbirth.

"Christine!" Erik exclaimed, pulling the door open and rushing into the room.

"Monsieur!" Anne-Marie and the midwife said at once.

The midwife continued, "Go away, she's not finished-!"

"Three?" He whispered, horrified. "She's having three? My poor Christine! Not three!"

"Erik, go away!" I moaned. "I'm... fine!"

Anne-Marie managed to shoo him out. He was mouthing "three" over and over, sobbing for fear I would die..

"Slowly, dear, slowly," the midwife told me, caution in her tone.

I whimpered, "What's... w-wrong?"

"It's coming out feet first, and a bit crooked, so just go slowly. It's a little trickier, but don't fret, stay calm. Breathe."

I nodded. Please no more after this... No wonder I had been so out of sorts. Triplets! How had I not suspected?

"Gently, dear, gently... Almost... Keep going, there are her hands! One more, dear, maybe two."

This had better be the last one. I was never having another child ever again!

Another cry pierced the air.

"A healthy little girl," she told me, placing her in my arms.

"Is something wrong with me?" I asked as I panted, staring down in wonder at the three bundles.

"Not at all... It often runs in families. Did you have a twin?"

"No..."

We paused for a moment. Nothing more.

"I-I think that's all," I sighed in relief.

"Yes, it seems so, thank goodness."

"Could my husband come in now?"

"After the afterbirth. I've never seen a man so eager to be in the birthing room, goodness me."

"He's rather protective."

"I can see that... Let me put them on your skin, it'll help. Did you have any complications last time?"

"The afterbirth took a while."

"Well, that's not the case this time, thank goodness... Looks like all accounted for, let me call in your nursemaid to help me clean you up-"

"Please, can't my husband come in?"

She sighed, but obliged, "I'll get the afterbirth away and then call him in."

"Thank you."

Erik was a miserable wreck when he entered.

"They're all healthy?" He pleaded. "Forgive me, three babies! How does that even happen right after twins? That's a rarity enough, but three! And you survived it, oh, how brave you are!"

"Monsieur, calm down," the midwife said, "you'll make the mother anxious."

"It's fine," I argued. "Two boys and a girl!"

"Two boys and a girl... Another little Christine?"

"Another one. What should we name them?"

He fumbled with his fingers, "Gustav, like you said before that you wanted... a-and... for the girl..."

I smiled mischievously, "Lilac?"

"If you... w-wouldn't mind."

"Not at all. But the other boy?... We could name him Nadir," I teased.

"No, definitely not."

"What about Erik?"

"Erik?... You would curse a child with my name-?"

"No, no. Remember how you told me you got your name by accident? Well, why don't we give him it on purpose?"

"Erik... n-no, no, not that name. Any other."

"Nadir it is-"

"Fine... Erik."

"Alright," the midwife sighed in impatience, "I need to wash the babies now. The other children can see once they're clean."

Erik drifted out, in awe.

The girls were delightful when they first saw the babies. Euphrasie ran in and gasped, "Three babies? Three sis'uhs?!"

"Two brothers, one sister," I said.

She pouted. Anne-Marie helped Félicité in, who had a little wheelchair for walks now.

"Bwuthuhs and a sis'uh?" She said. "Yay! Three!"

I giggled, "Erik, won't you hold one? This time, please?"

He nodded uneasily, but sat down beside me and took Lilac, inhaling in awe as he did so.

"She's so tiny..." he whispered.

"I think we'll have to wait a month until we can travel with them, or probably much longer... Anne-Marie, are you alright with five-?"

"Perfectly fine, madame," she replied, beaming. "Might I hold one?"

"This is Gustav."

"Gustav," she repeated. "How will you tell him apart from his brother?"

"String tied to the ankle, usually," the midwife said, smiling gently. "Congratulations to you both."

We traveled to Sweden after two months, though it was practically impossible and we lost Euphrasie three times over the course of it. Félicité had her wheelchair, but she didn't run off like her sister did, and she even tutted under her breath about her antics.

Erik bought a house in the lowest part of Sweden. It was a lovely cottage by the sea, like something out of a dream, or perhaps a memory.

We hired a wet nurse to help me, not wanting a repeat of before, but how could I go mad as I sat in a rocking chair in the front of our home, a sleeping child in each arm, another in Erik's, with the salty sea breeze on the air?

Yes, I could be happy here.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **I couldn't help it. Christine the miracle baby machine, goodness, poor woman.**

 **And now, EPILOGUE! Then one shots, but Epilogue first**


	72. Chapter 72: Epilogue

**If you want E/C, DO NOT READ. The story ends in the previous chapter for you guys, just pretend like it does, okay? That way I can please everyone.**

 **Prequel and one-shot(s) to be posted next, but it may be a little while. I need to catch up on my other fics.**

 **Thank you to everyone who read this fic, especially you reviewers! I hope you all enjoyed it, I certainly did. First fic down! Yay!**

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 _10 years later..._

 ** _Sweden, 1895_**

I stood at the edge of the sea. Lilac was barefoot in the sand, letting the cool water creep up over her white toes.

I didn't want to go inside the house. It was so difficult to live with two ghosts.

"Mama?" Lilac giggled. "Won't you come play?"

"I'm a bit tired today, dearie."

A gust of salty wind. She turned to me with inquisitive eyes.

"When is Papa going to die?" She asked.

I blinked twice, "I don't know."

"But he's been sick for a while now."

"He's not sick. He's fading. When people are old and they lose someone special, sometimes they fade away from sorrow."

"Because Fillie is in heaven?"

I bit back tears, "Yes, because she's in heaven..."

"But she's been there for over a year."

"Lilac, I would prefer not to talk about this right now. Go play."

In seeing my eyes, she obeyed.

I sighed. I ought to go inside now, be sure Erik wasn't forgetting who he was again. Yesterday he had thought we were beneath the opera house still, and I was coming for a lesson...

"Christine?" He called happily as I entered. "Is that you, my dear?"

"It's me..." I sighed, putting on a smile. "Why are you out of bed?"

"I wanted to buy you flowers..." He glanced around with pale eye. "I think."

"Oh, that's alright. I have plenty, look," I gestured to the vases on the dining table.

"Oh..." he whispered. "C-could you lie down with me?"

"If you want, but why?"

"I sometimes forget..." he trailed off. "You look beautiful today. Is it your birthday?"

"N- yes. You bought me this dress and lots of flowers, and chocolates."

"Good, good... Where are the children?"

"The boys are playing upstairs, Euphrasie is in the study practicing her French, and Lilac is playing by the sea."

"What about Félicité?" He asked, then he glanced towards the door to the silent music room. "Oh, I hear her, she's playing, isn't she?"

"Yes, Erik, she's playing..." I sighed. He often heard her playing in his mind. "You should play with her."

"Yes, where's my violin?"

"I'll get it for you."

By the time I was back, this was all forgotten.

The children kept it from becoming too miserable to bear, and mostly he stayed in his bedroom, having nightmares or crying. I forced myself to share a bed with him at night, but I barely slept because he kept waking up, stricken with terror or confused at something. I sometimes woke with bruises from him clutching or kicking me in his sleep.

When the month ended, however, he couldn't get out of bed anymore, and he thought I was Félicité. He kept speaking to me like I was his daughter until the very last day. The very last, terrible day...

"C-Christine?" He whispered, his voice crackling as his heart skipped. "You're engaged... to the vicomte... aren't you?"

"I... Yes, I am." Don't cry, he mustn't see.

"I want you... to be... happy with him."

"I love you, Erik."

"I love you... Christine."

I kissed him, and watched him fade away entirely. I didn't allow the children to see him.

He was buried in Sweden, as I assumed it would mean a lot to him to be buried in my homeland. We covered his grave with white flowers and lilacs.

"Did you love him?" Euphrasie asked me when we were alone a few weeks later.

I glanced down at my mourning dress. I wore a black veil, mostly to hide my eyes red from crying.

"Love is a very difficult thing," I replied. "But I would say that I did."

"Why did you marry him, though? You've never told me anything."

"I know... I'll tell you when you're a bit older."

"But what happened?"

"I said, I'll tell you when you're a bit older!" I snapped. "I'm sorry, I... I'm just so..."

"I shouldn't have said that... I just..."

"No, no, it's alright. You should know everything at some point..." I glanced out the window. "Would you run an errand for me?"

"What, maman?"

"I need you to send a letter."

"To whom?"

"A friend of mine..."

* * *

 _ **France, 1897**_

I refused to be married in white. I was a widow, after all. So I wore blue, a blue far too youthful to me, as the crinkles in my smile had worn into my features, and a few white hairs already had grown in along with the blonde.

The day before, though, I ran to Raoul in tears.

"You shouldn't marry me, you shouldn't!" I pleaded

"And why not? What's wrong, my love?"

"D-don't call me that, don't... I'm not... You shouldn't have me, I'm not worth you."

"I'm not worth _you_... What's this about? Is this about your fear you won't give me children still? I've told you, I didn't want to marry you to continue the de Chagny line, that's ludicrous... What's wrong?"

I buried my head in his chest, weeping, "I'm not pure, I'm not young."

"I'm only a year older than you. Thirty-six isn't so terrible."

"But... why do you still want me? After everything, how much I've changed, you still want me, and I don't understand it."

"Because I love you."

"Why this change of heart about marriage, though?"

I pulled away from his chest, and he swallowed.

"My brother... w-when he passed away, he told me just before that... that I needed to marry someone, anyone. He said that was his dying wish, that I needed someone to be with, even if it was only a chorus girl... I had been lovesick for years, and he thought I would forget you, but when I never did, he kept asking me to take leave so he could present me with beautiful and wealthy young women, hoping I might forget you for them. But I _couldn't_."

"Perhaps you're mad. Perhaps we're both mad-"

"Then let's be mad!" He declared. "I want to be mad, you make me mad, Christine, please let me have you now, as my wife. I love you more than anything in this whole world, since the moment I met you."

I embraced him, "I love you, too... I-I've never stopped... Was that selfish of me?"

"No one can be perfect... No, I don't think so."

"Erik would be happy with this... He told me, as he left, that he wanted me to be happy."

He kissed my hand, "Are you?"

"I've never been so happy... Save when I had the babies, of course, but even then... I love you, Raoul."

"I love you, too."

We were married the following day in a small wedding. The Persian came, though he was weakening in his old age. He was happy for me. He said Erik would have wanted this.

"Thank you, Erik," I said to heaven, though he likely wasn't there. "Thank you for telling me to be happy. How happy I am right now."

Perhaps he was in heaven. Who knows? Perhaps I had saved him.

But at least now I had saved myself.

 _FIN_


End file.
